Later that night, at the orphanage…

“Aren, are you absolutely sure about what you saw?”

A fat middle-aged woman with a round belly and an unpleasant expression sat behind the orphanage office desk, her sharp eyes fixed on him. Beside her stood a thin, flat-faced man with the same protruding belly, his arms crossed, radiating disapproval.

Both wore stern expressions, their presence heavy in the dimly lit room.

“Yes, Aunt,” Aren answered firmly.

“Who told you about this?” she pressed.

“I overheard some of the older boys talking,” Aren replied, careful with his words. 

He didn’t want to mention Airi, ‘Sister said she doesn’t want anything to do with them. She may not like it if I mentioned her.’

The uncle exchanged a glance with the woman, “I’ll go get them.”

Aren watched as the man strode out of the room. A few tense minutes passed before he returned, leading a group of boys—older, taller, some with guarded expressions—into the office.

The air grew heavy as they assembled before the stern caretakers, their eyes shifting between Aren and the adults.

“You lot, listen well,” the manager’s sharp voice cut through the room. 

She folded her arms, glaring at the group. “Aren says you’ve been doing drugs and selling blue films at school. Is that true?”

The boys turned to Aren, staring daggers.

Then, one by one, they erupted.

“No, Aunt! Aren is lying! We would never do such things.”

“Yes! He’s making it up!” They nodded vigorously, each backing the other up.

The uncle narrowed his eyes. “But why would Aren lie?”

One of the older boys stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with accusation. “Aunt, we caught Aren watching weird videos at school. We tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen. Now he’s making up lies to get back at us.”

“Yes,” the others chimed in, nodding in agreement.

“No, I didn’t!” Aren shouted, his voice shaking with frustration. “I saw them going up to the school terrace with black bags! If you don’t believe me, you can check their bags—”

“Shut up!”

Slap!

Before Aren could finish, a sharp crack of the slap echoed through the room.

Aren felt dizzy as he staggered, the world spinning around him. A sharp buzzing filled his ear, and a warm trickle of blood oozed down from it.

The voices around him blurred for a moment before snapping back into focus.

“Lying little brat,” she hissed, her palm still stinging.

The woman’s scolding rang through the room, sharp and relentless.

Aren staggered as pain burned across his cheek. His wide eyes met the manager's furious glare.

“How dare you lie about your senior brothers!” she spat. 

“Spreading such rumors—Do you have any idea what would happen to their reputation? To this orphanage’s reputation?”

Aren’s head throbbed, but he forced himself to speak. “But Aunt, I didn’t lie—”

“Shut up!” she cut him off, her tone laced with disgust. 

“Are you saying they are lying? Look around you, All of them are saying the same thing, and you are the only one claiming otherwise.”

“It’s obvious you’re the culprit here,” the woman sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. 

“Blaming others to cover up your own rotten deeds—how disgraceful.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head in mock pity. “But how can I blame you? You are the son of a whore. I suppose perversion runs in your blood. Like mother, like son..”

Aren’s breath hitched, fists clenched at his sides, chest felt tight, his mind screaming that this was unfair. But faced with so many accusing eyes, his voice faltered.

“If we let you be, who knows what kind of filth you’ll grow into?” she continued. “No. You need to be taught a lesson.”

The woman seized him roughly by the neck, dragging him through the orphanage halls. 

Seeing this scene, the group of boys sneered at Aren.

“Aunt, wait! I didn’t lie!” Aren pleaded, his voice breaking. But his words fell on deaf ears.

He struggled, tears streaming down his face, but she didn’t stop.

Eyes followed him—some wide with pity, others indifferent.

After Aren and the fat woman left the room, the thin man let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. Then, his gaze darkened.

“You idiots,” he hissed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t get caught. Always be alert. Do you want the whole school to know what you’re doing?”

The boys bowed their heads. “Sorry, uncle.”

He clicked his tongue. “You should be grateful the brat brought it up here instead of running to the teachers. That would’ve been a disaster.” His eyes narrowed. “From now on, don’t do anything on school grounds. Pick a private spot outside and lure the students there.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“And the bags—don’t keep them on you. Move everything to the storage room.”

“Yes.”

The man leaned forward, his voice lowering. “As for that little rat… we can’t have him causing more trouble.”

“What should we do?”

He smirked. “Spread rumors. Make everyone believe he’s a pervert, a liar—someone no one would ever trust.”

One of the boys grinned. “Leave it to us, uncle. We’ll make his life hell at school and orphanage.”

Satisfied, the man leaned back. “Good. Now get out of here.”

The boys shuffled out, leaving him alone, waiting for the fat woman to return.

The fat woman dragged Aren outside the orphanage gates. With a rough shove, she threw him onto the cold pavement. His body scraped against the rough ground, skin tearing as sharp pain shot through him. Blood seeped from fresh wounds, but the woman didn’t spare him a glance.

“You can spend the night out here in the cold without food. Maybe by morning, you’ll come to your senses.” She dusted off her hands as if throwing out some trash, then turned and slammed the gates shut.

“Aunt! Aunt, please! Let me in!” Aren rushed to the gate, pounding against the iron bars with weak trembling hands.

But the fat woman merely scoffed and walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the dimly lit orphanage.

Copyright © [March] [2025] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved. 

Inside, she returned to the office, where the thin man was waiting.

“Done with him?” he asked.

“Yes,” she huffed. 

“… you know, we didn’t have to be so cruel. Just punishing him and skipping a few meals should’ve been enough. Maybe we went overboard.”

“Hurmp,” the fat lady snorted. “What do you know, last night he saw us f*cking each other. What do you think will happen if he said anything about it? 

“Fortunately he still doesn’t understand what we were doing. We have to make sure that everyone thinks he is a liar and has very bad character.”

“Haha, don’t worry about it” the thin man hugged the lady from behind. “Our boys will take care of it. You were so hot back then the way you dragged him out.”

“Mmm,” the fat lady moaned as he started to squeeze her melons.

“But still… calling him a whore’s son and tossing him out into the cold like that feels too cruel. He seems to be running a fever. What if he dies?”

“Hmph.” she scoffed. “If he dies, he dies. One less burden on this world. Not like anyone cares whether he lives or not.”

“As for calling him a son of an whore, I was stating a fact.

“What? Really?” he asked, curious.

“Yes, and you’d be shocked, if you knew who his mother was,” the fat lady said with a smirk.

“Who?” he asked, intrigued.

“The Twilight’s Nightingale.”

The thin man flinched, his excitement instantly replaced by disbelief. “What?” He took a step back, staring at her.

“Hah! Look at your face!” The woman cackled.

“Wait… are you serious?” He frowned, struggling to process the revelation.

“Why would I lie?” She folded her arms, looking indignant.

“Come on, don’t be upset. It’s just… we’re talking about the Nightingale of Twilight. The legendary star.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Everyone knew her. In fact, she became so famous that people forgot her real name and just called her the Nightingale or the Twilight Goddess.”

“She was said to be the most beautiful woman on the planet—some even called her the goddess of beauty.”

“Her singing, her instrumentals… they were divine.”

“I especially like her erhu performances,” he added, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “They were mesmerizing… almost otherworldly. Even I was a fan back then.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “And then… she lost her voice, crumbling everything. No one knows what really happened to her after that.”

The thin man’s gaze flickered with curiosity. “But still… no one ever heard of her having a child.”

“Of course no one has,” the fat lady sneered. “She was everything you said in her prime—talented, beautiful, adored by millions. But then, she got addicted to alcohol, smoking, drugs, gambling… you name it. Scandal after scandal followed. She drowned in debt.”

“She lost her voice. Her hands trembled whenever she touched an instrument. The diva who once mesmerized the world had become a wreck.”

“And you know what? She was too arrogant when she was at the top and made enemies everywhere.” The fat lady scoffed. “So when she finally fell, those who hated her didn’t just watch. They crushed her.”

“She owed a massive debt to an underworld boss. He ‘saved’ her from financial ruin… and then locked her up. Sold her services as a prostitute to the rich.

“You know how beautiful she was, there were thousands who wanted a piece of her, to spend at least one night with her. So, he raked in profits.

“But soon, she lost even her beauty. The boss had no use for her anymore—he threw her away like garbage.”

“With no money and nowhere to go, she sold her body just to survive… just to drown herself in alcohol. She was so far gone, losing herself.”

“When she found out she was pregnant, it was already late for an abortion. She had no choice but to give birth to Aren. She saw him as nothing more than a burden.”

“The previous orphanage manager saw her dump her own child into a trash bin by the streets.”

“He tried to convince her to stay, to raise her son, to live a better life. But she just laughed, picked up her bottle, and walked away.”

“‘If you want to pick up trash, go ahead. Don’t push it on me,’ she shouted before disappearing into the night.”

“He wanted to at least know who his father was… but she didn’t keep count of the people she slept with.”

“With no other choice, the ex-director took him in.”

“A few years later, she died—wasted away by disease. It was a horrible death. Not even a few hours after she passed, strange worms crawled out of her body. Ugh… just thinking about it makes me want to vomit.”

“The ex-director was the one who paid for her cremation. He even made Aren perform the rituals and built a tomb for her.”

“Wow… I never knew her life ended so tragically. But why did she fall so far?”

“Some say it was because of a love failure. No one knows for sure.”

“....Ah! damn it!” The thin man suddenly cursed, his expression twisting in frustration.

“What now? Why are you cursing all of a sudden?” the fat woman snapped.

“I just realized… if only he had been born a girl, we could have sold him to traffickers for a good price. Imagine—'The Daughter of the Twilight Goddess.' People would pay a fortune.”

"Why not do it if he's a boy? I’ve heard there are all kinds of creeps out there… some with very weird tastes and bizarre fetishes .”

“And if not that, we could at least sell his organs.” she said with a dismissive tone.

"We can’t, at least not for now. All the underworld bosses are too afraid to set foot in this country."

"Apparently, there's someone very scary in this country, and everyone in the underworld is afraid of him," the man muttered.

"Even the drug operations here were only set up by my bosses’ boss—with the help of a young, local upstart. He’s ambitious and new to the scene, but he is still moving cautiously, testing the waters."

In a frustrated tone. "According to my boss, it’ll take at least a decade before we can establish a strong foothold here. Maybe after ten years, we’ll finally be able to start organ trafficking, child trafficking, and women trafficking. That’s when the real money will start rolling in. Until then, we’re stuck scraping by with the peanuts we earn now."

"But by then, the kid will be an adult," he sighed. "The Twilight Goddess’s fame will have faded. Even if we claim he’s her son, no one will believe or care. If he were a girl, at least she’d have inherited her mother’s looks. Maybe even her talents, if we were lucky."

He exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "Maybe we can still sell his organs."

"No," the fat woman cut in. "That might not be possible."

"Why not?"

"I remember the ex-director mentioning that organs can’t be harvested from people with certain health issues."

"Does he have any?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "The doctors said it might be because his mother used drugs while she was pregnant. That brat was born with a condition."

"What kind of condition?"

"He goes into a daze from time to time."

"Daze?"

"Yes. It happens randomly. He just freezes for some time—completely unresponsive. Apparently, it’s a symptom sometimes seen in brain cancer patients or people with neurological issues."

She crossed her arms and continued, "And sometimes, he suddenly starts convulsing, like a thousand needles are piercing his body. He screams in pain, thrashing around."

The thin man frowned. "That serious?"

"The old director took him to all sorts of doctors, but none could figure out what was wrong. I often heard the old fool sighing, pitying the brat, saying, ‘What sins must he have committed in his past life to suffer like this?’"

"Sins?" 

"Yeah. He believed people suffer because of past-life karma. Always preaching about good deeds and morality."

"Heh. What nonsense." The thin man scoffed.

"Exactly. It was so annoying pretending to be all goodie-two-shoes around him. I’m just glad he finally kicked the bucket. If he hadn’t, I might have killed him myself." She clenched her fists, scowling.

The thin man smirked. "Well, his condition doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’d tell anyone he’s defective. Just don’t kill him. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find a buyer in the future—there are plenty of freaks with… unusual tastes. Afterall, let’s be honest, that brat's face is too damn pretty for a boy."

The fat woman sneered. "Ugh. That face, his squeaky clean, just looking at him annoys me. I won’t kill him, but I sure as hell won’t let him live comfortably."

The thin man chuckled. "You are already doing a fine job at that. What? Jealous of his beauty?"

Her glare darkened. "Do you want to spend the night outside?"

"Sorry, I was just teasing." A cold sweat dripped down his back. 

Outside, Aren kept pushing at the gate, but it wouldn’t budge.

The night air was freezing, biting into his fevered skin. His strength waned, his body trembling violently. His vision blurred, and with a soft thud, he collapsed onto the cold ground.

Then—

"Grrr…"

A low, guttural growl cut through the silence.

Weakly, Aren turned his head.

A short distance away, a massive dog stood in the dim streetlight. Its body was covered in festering wounds, pus oozing from its rotting flesh. Blood dripped from its cracked teeth. Its red eyes—wild, rabid, filled with hunger—locked onto him.

Terror surged through him. He wanted to run. His body refused to move.

His vision darkened, consciousness slipping away, but the last thing he saw was the beast lunging—jaws wide open, ready to tear into him.

'No… No… Stay away… No—!'

"Noooo!"

Tia bolted upright, screaming.

His breath came in ragged gasps. His heart pounded violently in his chest. His eyes, wide with lingering terror, darted around the room.

It was just a dream. A nightmare.

"Tia, what happened? Are you alright?"

Sera and Vina jolted awake, startled by his sudden scream. In the dim glow of the room, they found Tia sitting upright, panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Tia blinked, disoriented, his mind still tangled in the remnants of his nightmare. He looked around—the familiar warmth of Raven’s Crest Castle, the soft sheets beneath him, the concerned faces of his mother and sister. He was safe.

"Mother… Sister… I—I’m fine. It’s just… just a…" His voice faltered, unable to find the right words.

Sera reached out, gently rubbing his back. "Another nightmare?" she asked, her voice soothing.

Vina poured a glass of water from the bedside table. "Here, drink this."

Tia took the glass with shaky hands and emptied it in one go. The cool liquid grounded him, easing the tightness in his chest.

"Better?" Sera asked softly.

He nodded. "Yes."

Vina hesitated, then asked, "What was it this time?"

Tia swallowed, his fingers gripping the blanket. "A dog… a rabid one. It was covered in wounds, like it had leprosy. It tried to attack me."

Sera’s brows furrowed. "That’s the eighth time."

Tia looked at her, surprised. "You kept count?"

Sera nodded. "Recurring dreams aren’t random, Tia. There must be a reason."

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something—but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to explain. If he wants to, he has to reveal that he remembers his past life.

Sera gave a small smile and ruffled his hair. "It’s late. Let’s get some rest. Don’t worry—no harm will come to you while we’re here."

Vina pulled the blanket over them, and Tia found himself nestled between them as they wrapped their arms around him, their warmth chasing away the cold dread lingering from his dream.

Safe. Warm. Protected.

Tia’s eyes fluttered closed, and soon, sleep claimed him once more.

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Copyright © [March] [2025] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved. 

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