Chapter 2
After a long time, the whipping stopped. Someone untied the boy, and he collapsed to the ground like a broken doll.
"Throw him out," someone said. "From today on, the Carroll family has no such person."
They dragged him outside. He didn't struggle. He didn't cry. He only turned his head and looked at the man who gave the order.
That was his father.
There were no tears in his eyes, no anger, no hatred, nothing.
Then they threw him out.
The heavy gate slammed shut behind him.
The boy lay on the ground for a long time without moving, staring up at the moon.
After a while, he slowly pushed himself up and started walking. Step by step, with no direction and no destination, he just kept going.
Eventually, he collapsed under an old tree.
Right before he lost consciousness, he saw someone standing there in the moonlight. A faint glow surrounded that figure.
That person looked down at him. He reached out and grabbed her ankle.
*****
When I woke up, my pillow was damp with tears.
[Host, I've detected a strong emotional fluctuation. Do you need an emotional stabilizer?]
"No." I wiped my face with the back of my hand. My voice came out rough.
It was already light outside. I got up and went to check on Edwin. He was still out cold, but his breathing had steadied. The wounds on his body had started to scab.
I pulled a chair closer and sat by the bed, studying his quiet face.
In the original story, Edwin killed the entire Carroll family when he was seventeen. He did it alone.
Back then, the comment section had been full of cheers. People said the family deserved it. They said he did the right thing. I even liked those comments.
Now, I found myself wondering about that seventeen-year-old boy.
When he raised the knife, did he remember the thirty lashes he took at seven?
Did he remember the sound of that heavy door slamming shut?
Did he remember the figure looking down at him in the moonlight?
[Host, you are overthinking. The Edwin in the original story had no positive emotions. He only used people, then killed them.]
"That was because no one was ever kind to him," I said quietly.
[What?]
I reached out and brushed the messy hair off his forehead. "You said he was born cruel.
"But when he was seven, his own father beat him until his skin split open. His whole family threw him out like garbage. What do you think he was supposed to become?"
The system fell silent.
"Was he supposed to smile? To forgive? To believe the world was full of love?" I asked.
There was no answer.
"Before he ever took revenge on this world, the world hurt him first." I looked at Edwin and lowered my voice. "So no, he was not born cruel. The world made him that way."
[Host, your logic is twisted.]
"Maybe." I stood up and headed to the kitchen to make him some oatmeal.
The moment the door closed behind me, Edwin's eyes opened.
He stared at the door. Something flickered in his gaze.
*****
By the time he woke up again, I was brewing medicine.
The room was thick with the bitter smell. I crouched by the stove, fanning the fire. The smoke stung my eyes until they watered.
A faint rustle came from behind me.
I turned around. Edwin was pushing himself up, trying to sit. The moment he saw me, he froze. His eyes locked onto me, unblinking.
"Hey, don't move." I set the fan aside and hurried over. "Your wounds aren't healed yet. Why are you getting up?"
As I got close, his whole body tensed. He looked like a small animal ready to bolt at any second.
I ignored it. I grabbed a pillow and tucked it behind his back, then pulled the blanket up around him.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do your wounds hurt?" I asked.
He just stared at me, saying nothing.
Then it hit me. He had just been beaten and thrown out by his own father. Of course, he would be on guard.
"Don't be scared." I sat on the edge of the bed and softened my voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. You passed out right in front of me, so I brought you in. What's your name?"
He stayed silent.
I let out a small sigh. "Alright. If you don't want to say it, that's fine. Are you hungry? I can get you some oatmeal."
Right on cue, his stomach growled.
I couldn't help laughing. "Wait here."
I went back to the stove, scooped out a bowl of oatmeal, and stirred in some minced meat. Then, I brought it over. "Careful. It's hot. Eat slowly."
He took the bowl and looked down at it. But he didn't eat.
"Why aren't you eating?" I asked.
He lifted his head and looked at me. His voice was so hoarse that it was barely a whisper. "Why?"
"Why what?" I asked, a bit confused.
"Why did you save me?" he whispered.
I paused, caught off guard.
He held my gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"No one would save me," he said flatly, like he was stating a simple fact. "I was thrown away. No one would pick me up."
I fell silent for a moment.
After a moment, I reached out and gently ruffled his hair.
It was soft and thin, like a stray kitten's fur. "You passed out right in front of me. I couldn't just watch you die."