The S-class city glittered with countless lights—bright, scattered across the ground as if the sky had bent down to pour its stars onto the asphalt. The city shone so intensely it was nearly blinding, as though built to proclaim itself a masterpiece of progress and luxury.
Skyscrapers rose like pillars of steel and glass, piercing the clouds as if competing with mountains. Reflections from their windows were sharp and dazzling, enough to steal one's vision for moments. Among these towering structures stood oddly designed towers—some shaped like giant letters, others carving abstract forms into the sky.
Giant corporations scraped the heavens, buildings soaring beyond 900 meters, equipped with cutting-edge technology and private aircraft landing on their rooftops. These were not just symbols of wealth but entities controlling decisions, science, and souls.
On the city's opulent fringes, massive palaces rested quietly atop green lands. Fantastical, as if torn from myth, they were encircled by elegant white walls separating them from common homes. Between 110 and 120 palaces stood in meticulous alignment, yet the gaps between them ran deep—a silent reminder that even among elites, hierarchies exist. Before each palace loomed a colossal iron gate bearing the royal family's crest, guarded by two men radiating the fierce aura of B-class beings. They seemed to guard not just the palaces but the very idea of class.
Busy streets stretched between skyscrapers and palaces, adorned with futuristic geometric patterns. Hover-cars glided silently like wingless birds, their polished metal frames mirroring the city's glow.
Yet behind this glittering facade, behind these star-like palaces, rose a colossal wall. Not to block light or shield factories—though foul smells seeped from beyond it—but to separate two worlds.
Beyond that wall lay slums, covering 40% of this lavish world.
.....
They had only desolate streetlights... for illumination.
Ruin sprawled as if the earth itself had surrendered. Crumbling straw-and-stick shacks, cracked cement homes like forgotten faces. No balconies, no real doors—just openings betraying harsh poverty.
Then, in this wasteland, a strange and painful scene unfolded.
Small rodents—rats—raced at full speed, slipping through rubble as if fleeing a ghost. But they weren't running from cats or toward sewers... they were being hunted.
Behind them, a group of emaciated poor gave chase, screaming as if rats were treasure. Starvation had made a rat a precious meal. Some brandished sticks; others crawled, grabbing at anything moving.
United by hunger, by tragedy, they became a mass of despair chasing hope the size of a rat. Minutes passed, and some collapsed from exhaustion. Their faces were deathly pale, with deep black circles under glassy eyes seeing only one thing: *food*.
But in this world... *no one shows mercy*."
....
In a narrow alley—where sunlight crept in like a shy visitor—an exhausted rat trembled by a crumbling wall, behind a rusted dumpster reeking of decay. Its eyes darted madly; its chest heaved as if fear would shatter it. The hungry footsteps drew closer.
Five people encircled it. No words, no shouts—just ragged breaths and feral eyes. A girl no older than ten, in tattered clothes and bloodied knees, lunged first. She didn't catch it... she tripped, falling face-first. No one noticed. A youth with a broken stick leaped at the rat.
One strike. Then another. A faint squeal—then stillness.
The youth lifted the tiny corpse with trembling hands like war loot, rasping:
"*Mine... I found it.*"
No one replied. Here, the law was simple: *The victor eats... the slow starve*.
Yet an old woman who'd silently followed stepped forward. Choking, she whispered:
"*Please... give me a piece... my child hasn't eaten in two days.*"
He didn't answer. He stared at the rat, then at her pleading eyes. A silence sharp as a knife passed before he scowled:
"*Go! This is all I have left... no time for pity!*"
He ran off, clutching the rat like his only treasure.
The woman didn't weep or beg again. She sank slowly to her knees, as if life had drained from her. Whispering to herself:
"*Even rats... have become dreams.*"
But then... the youth realized he'd lost his mind. He pulled back his hand and threw the dead rat away.
He'd decided: *He'd rather starve than eat a rat.*
And so, under a city glittering like magic, in the shadows of elite-filled towers, tragedy lay just one wall away... tragedy with no voice, unseen by anyone. But it existed, pulsing with hunger... waiting for a wall to break—even if that wall was humanity itself.
──────
Atop the colossal wall—where luxury ended and misery began—sat Korgami.
His legs dangled over the void dividing two worlds, his black cloak dancing violently in the wind like the turmoil within. Long black hair covered part of his face, but his eyes remained fixed downward, toward the district where he was born... and where everything was buried.
His gaze was sharp, calm—carrying neither anger nor longing... only a silence heavy as an inner wall yet to crumble.
He watched the scene below: people still fighting over a dead rat. As grief threatened to pierce his heart, a familiar roar split the sky.
A massive hover-truck, white as pure clouds, approached over the slums. It didn't belong here—a fragment of another world—yet it landed amid the rubble.
Korgami whispered: "*Her again...*"
The hover-truck's door opened. A pristine white foot stepped out calmly, ill-fitting yet unwavering.
Long black hair cascaded, swaying in the engine's wind—a salute to this forgotten world. She wore a white dress with green stripes and a simple wide hat hiding her eyes... even from her brother.
Beautiful... deceptively simple.
Korgami didn't move. He watched from the wall, staring silently.
"*Since leaving this place for the noble districts, she'd never stopped returning with food. How could she? Here lived her former neighbors... her people.*"
Only a year had passed since her move, yet she remembered. She visited constantly with a massive food truck, delivering temporary hope.
Korgami swallowed hard. He wanted to smile... but couldn't.
Their eyes still never met—the hat hid everything—yet his memories were vivid.
He recalled her jumping on him each dawn, yelling and pushing him awake:
"*Get up! We'll be late for the Academy!*"
She'd believed in him. Even when everyone abandoned him, even when he was pitifully weak, even when he was beaten in secret for scraps of strength... she'd smile and say:
"*You'll succeed. I know it.*"
But reality was harsher than ambition.
When he was expelled from the Academy and thrown into a dark hell-cell, he hoped for nothing for himself... only that his family stayed safe, spared his curse.
Now, he saw her—steadfast, radiant, bringing food to the poor, as if scrubbing away the world's shame.
He watched her distribute food boxes herself. No servants, no arrogance... just a heart still tied to its roots.
On the wall, Korgami sat still, hair and cloak battling the wind.
He was no longer the Korgami of old. The boy who dreamed had died long ago... when he realized he wasn't even a curse—just a fleeting sin destined to lose everything.
And yet... *there she was*. His little sister.
Only fifteen, but S-class. A terrifying talent—a potential immortal under another system. But poverty... poverty had trapped them. They could only afford to enroll her—and him—in a C-class Academy.
Korgami closed his eyes for a moment, murmuring unheard:
"*Even as you shine... you're still down there... saving what I couldn't.*"