Everyone hated him. When good people saw him, they looked away. The boys his age hid or ran from him. Even the worst and the roughest wouldn’t accept him. When they fought, it was ultimately about survival. Their way of life was incompatible with Goldof’s. He only hit to break and to harm. They talked about him behind his back, always searching for a chance to kill him.
It wasn’t that hitting people was fun for Goldof. Winning didn’t make him happy, and he wasn’t proud of being strong, either. He just wanted a normal life, to take pleasure in the small things like playing with friends and having a relationship with his father. But each time the black flames flared up, someone near him was injured. Goldof couldn’t do anything about it.
Goldof spent his boyhood as a target of hatred and fear. Eventually, he discovered a single truth: The world didn’t want him. There wasn’t a single person in the world who wanted him to be alive—himself included, most likely.
And then, when he was ten years old, the boy loathed by everyone met a girl.
Goldof noticed that for the past few days, there had been a lot of noise in town. The soldiers of the noble ruling the city had been lurking about the streets. And these soldiers had never been much for maintaining the peace—they did nothing but extort the citizenry. They came to the slums, too. The neighborhood thugs were staying quiet and in hiding so as not to be blamed for anything.
At the time, Goldof was keeping himself fed by rag-picking. Whenever he showed up, the people of the neighborhood always looked away. Women and children quickly made themselves scarce. Even the merchant who bought the items of value that Goldof scrounged from the trash didn’t talk with him more than was necessary. That was Goldof’s day-to-day at the time.
The soldiers seemed to be searching for something in the back streets. They proceeded along the road, going into houses, scouring furniture and closets. As Goldof picked through trash, he eavesdropped on the soldiers’ conversation. It sounded like they were searching for a girl. Goldof didn’t know who she was or why they were searching for her. But from the bits of conversation, he understood that if the soldiers found her, they’d be paid very handsomely. The reactions of the residents varied; some were trying to find the girl to get rich quick, while others worried that this might bring trouble. Goldof was not going to get involved with any of it, however.
“Hey, kid. Have you seen—” one soldier called out to him.
But before the soldier could even finish speaking, Goldof glared at him and said, “Move.” That one word made the soldier flinch. Wordlessly, Goldof passed the man by. He avoided interaction as much as possible. Avoiding people meant he could go without hurting anyone, or himself. Goldof had acquired this worldly wisdom at the age of ten.
“It’s best if you don’t talk to him, sir. He’s crazy.” Goldof faintly overheard a man behind him speaking to the soldier. Fortunately, the black coals did not flare to life. If they had, he probably would have beat to death both the man who’d said that and the soldier.
Goldof exchanged the once discarded items for money, bought his bread for the day, and headed home. He lived in a little hut in the filthiest district of the slums.
He was about to open his half-broken door when he noticed that someone was inside.
“…”
Was it a petty thief who didn’t know about Goldof and had the poor luck to be searching his house? Or was someone with a grudge against him trying to set his place on fire? The black flames began burning inside him. Guess I’ll kill him, Goldof thought, opening the door.
But then suddenly, it was as if Goldof was frozen; he couldn’t move at all. “…Who are you?” he asked.
Inside his home was a girl. She lay curled up on the ground, her eyes closed. Her clothes were rags that even the children of the slums wouldn’t wear. Her face was rather dirty, and her cheeks were sunken. Her long, golden hair shone softly.
The moment Goldof saw her face, the fire burning inside him was immediately snuffed out. It was the first time in his life this had happened. The black flames had flared up, but he’d gone without hitting anyone.
The girl was beautiful. She had to be in her early teens. Goldof approached her and gently reached out for her cheek. Just before his fingers touched her, his hand stopped one centimeter from her face. For some reason, he felt like he wasn’t allowed to touch her—that if he did, she’d break.
“…Oh.” The girl on the floor opened her eyes and looked straight at Goldof. That alone was enough to stun him, like he’d gone and done something he shouldn’t have.
The girl looked at him, frozen with his hand outstretched, and tilted her head. “Is Meenia all right?” she asked, and rose.
Not understanding what she meant, Goldof was unable to reply.
“Oh, are you not one of Barbitt’s men, mister?” Barbitt was the name of the noble who ruled the town. That was when Goldof realized this was the girl the soldiers were looking for. “I’m not going to run. Relax, please. Also, I think capturing me unwounded will net you the biggest reward.”
Sitting on the floor, the girl wrapped her arms around herself. Goldof could tell
