The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of the Game World. This was a land where martial prowess was everything, where people believed that the God of the Game watched over their endeavors. Yet, despite the myths and legends, the gods had long since faded from the daily lives of the common folk, becoming nothing more than distant memories.
Amid the crowd, a young boy darted through the streets, clutching a loaf of bread tightly in his hand. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he wove through the market stalls, narrowly avoiding the grasping hands of vendors and passersby. His clothes were tattered, his bare feet slapped against the cobblestones, and his heart pounded in his chest. But there was a spark in his eyes—a glint of determination that belied his small, fragile frame.
"Stop him!" someone shouted from behind, but the boy was already several steps ahead, his mind focused solely on one thing: getting away with the bread.
He didn't get far before a group of older boys cornered him in a narrow alley. Their faces were twisted with anger boiling as they closed in on him, blocking his only escape.
"Hand it over, runt always stealing from me ,lets see if you can run today" one of them sneered, reaching for the bread.
The boy shook his head, his grip tightening around the loaf. "No! This is for my family!"
The older boys exchanged glances, then lunged at him all at once. Fists flew, and kicks landed, but despite their efforts, the boy didn't let go of the bread. He curled up into a ball, protecting the loaf with his body. The blows rained down on him, but something strange happened—the attackers began to grunt and curse as their fists and feet struck the boy's hardened frame.
"Why won't you just give up, you little—"
But before they could finish, one of them yelped in pain, clutching his hand. "What the—? He's like a rock!"
The boy's body, though small and thin, had become as tough as stone over the years, hardened by countless beatings and the harsh realities of life in the Game World. The older boys, frustrated and nursing their bruises, eventually gave up, retreating with angry glares and muttered threats.
As they left, the boy slowly uncurled, wincing as he took stock of his injuries. His ribs ached, and his lip was split, but he still held the bread. He allowed himself a small smile, pushing through the pain as he slipped away from the alley and back into the crowded streets.
He walked until he reached a quieter part of the city, a forgotten corner where the buildings leaned precariously and the air was thick with the smell of decay. Here, hidden away from prying eyes, was a makeshift shelter—a small hut pieced together from old dustbins, discarded planks, and tattered cloth. It wasn't much, but it was home.
The boy ducked inside, where the dim light revealed three figures huddled together on a threadbare mat. Two young boys and a little girl, all of them dirty and thin, looked up as their older brother entered.
"Big brother!" the little girl exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she saw him. She scrambled up and ran to him, her small hands reaching out to grab his. "You're back!"
The boy smiled, though the effort made his split lip sting. "Yeah, I'm back. And look what I got us today!" He held up the loaf of bread, and from under his shirt, he revealed a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "Bread, fish, and sauce! I heard that people dip the bread in the sauce before eating it. Let's have a party!"
His siblings' eyes widened at the sight of the food, their hunger momentarily forgotten as they stared in disbelief. "All this... for us?" one of the younger boys asked, his voice tinged with awe.
The boy nodded, kneeling down to distribute the food. "Yeah, for us. I got a whole bag full of it. We're going to eat like kings tonight!"
But as they gathered around the food, the youngest boy, who had been silent, suddenly noticed the blood on his brother's face. His brow furrowed with worry. "Big brother, you're hurt again," he said, his voice trembling.
The boy waved it off, wiping at his lip with the back of his hand, though he winced as he did so. "It's nothing, just a scratch."
The little girl, still clutching his hand, looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes. "But it hurts, doesn't it?" she asked, her voice small and filled with concern.
The boy hesitated, feeling the weight of their worried gazes on him. He could see the fear in their eyes, the fear that one day he might not come back. He forced a reassuring smile, though it felt like a lie. "Yeah, it hurts a little," he admitted softly, "but I'm strong, remember? I can take a beating all day if I have to."
His siblings didn't seem convinced, but they nodded, trusting in his words because they had no other choice. They knew he was strong—stronger than any child his age had any right to be. But they also knew that strength came at a cost. Every day, their brother put himself in danger to bring them food, to protect them from the harsh world outside their little hut. And every day, they worried that one day, he wouldn't come back.
The boy reached out and ruffled the youngest boy's hair, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, let's eat before the bread gets cold," he said, forcing a laugh. "We've got to enjoy this feast while it lasts!"
His siblings reluctantly followed his lead, tearing into the bread and dipping it into the sauce. The little girl giggled as she tasted the sauce for the first time, her eyes lighting up with delight. "It's so good!" she exclaimed, licking the sauce from her fingers.
The older boy watched them with a soft smile, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and sadness. This was what he fought for—these moments of happiness, however fleeting, were worth every bruise and every cut. He watched as his younger brother, who had been so worried moments ago, now laughed with his sister, their fears momentarily forgotten in the joy of the meal.
As they ate, the youngest boy suddenly spoke up again, his voice quiet but firm. "Big brother, when I grow up, I'm going to be strong like you. Then you won't have to fight anymore. I'll protect you and our sister, and we'll all be safe."
The boy felt a lump rise in his throat at his brother's words. He reached out and pulled his brother into a hug, holding him close. "You're already strong," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're the strongest little brother anyone could ask for."
The little girl, not wanting to be left out, wriggled her way into the hug, her small arms wrapping around both of her brothers. "And I'll be strong too! We'll all be strong together!" she declared, her voice muffled against her brother's chest.
The older boy held them both tightly, feeling their warmth and the steady beat of their hearts. For a moment, the pain of his injuries faded, replaced by a fierce determination. He would protect them, no matter what it took. They were his world, and he would fight for them until his last breath.
As the night wore on and his siblings drifted off to sleep, the boy sat quietly by the entrance of the hut, staring out at the darkened streets. His body ached, and the cuts and bruises throbbed with a dull pain, but he didn't mind. He had a duty to protect his family, and as long as he could do that, he would endure whatever the world threw at him.
He glanced back at his sleeping siblings, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. They were his reason for fighting, his reason for surviving in this unforgiving world. No matter how hard it got, no matter how much it hurt, he would keep going. For them.
And so, with the moon high in the sky and the city quiet around him, the boy leaned back against the wall of the hut, closing his eyes. He knew that tomorrow would bring more challenges, more pain, and more hardship. But for tonight, he allowed himself a moment of peace, content in the knowledge that his family was safe and fed.
Tomorrow, he would face the world again. But for now, he was just a boy, watching over his little corner of the Game World, dreaming of a future where they could all be free.