Three days passed after my father's death. When my mom returned, we gathered the money my father had saved, and we moved to my cousin's boyfriend's house in a remote city.
One night, while my cousin was listening to the radio, the broadcaster started talking about my late father.
"Have y'all heard about a man named Rōma Umareta, better known as Blade?" the broadcaster said, before bursting into laughter.
He went on to reveal how my father had been involved in a well-known gang, making deals with other gangs, even if they were enemies. He explained that on the day my father went missing, he had been planning to buy guns from a rival gang. Unfortunately, it was a setup. The enemy gang had laid a trap for him. My father went with his best friend, who was killed right in front of him. Then, they tortured my father until he drew his last breath and tossed his body onto a pile of trash in their territory.
That night, my mother and sister were so shocked they couldn't sleep. As for me, I remained numb, expressionless—like something inside me had already died. After that day, I sank into a deep depression. Only video games and music helped distract me from the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. My contact with the outside world diminished. I stayed locked in my room, awake until late into the night.
One evening, I went out to buy something to eat and ran into my cousin's boyfriend's cousin and brother. They called me over, and I joined them. They asked if I had food, and I told them I was about to buy something. I invited them to come along. After we ate, we talked for a while, then returned to the house. Days passed, and I became close to them—they started feeling like brothers. They introduced me to their friends, and it wasn't long before I realized they were always smoking and drinking. Every day, without fail, they treated alcohol like water. It was constant.
I distanced myself from them, stopped going out, and immersed myself in games again. But no game seemed to meet my expectations anymore. Since I was a kid, I had always wanted to play a game with various classes, especially the summoner class. But none of the games I found had that, so I gave up and found peace in FPS games instead.
One day, while I was lying on my bed playing a game, my mom called me. She asked if I wanted to keep going to school or move to the Dominican Republic. My older sister had already gone ahead of us, and soon we followed—though not legally. The visa process was taking too long, and my mother was eager to leave the country. It was my first time traveling, but I wasn't paying much attention to the journey; I just wanted to get there as fast as possible. Along the way, we had breaks to eat and stretch, but I wasn't hungry. I only bought a drink.
Things got tense when we crossed the border. It was already late at night, so we stayed in a nearby hotel. Early the next morning, at 5 a.m., two Dominican men came to pick us up and took us to a bus. Everything seemed fine until we ran into immigration officers. My heart raced, and I struggled to breathe. We pretended to be asleep, and luckily, they didn't bother us. This happened two more times, but each time, we managed to pass without any problems.
When we finally arrived at a house, my mom said, "We're here." I saw a man standing in the doorway. My mom kissed him. I felt disappointed and uncomfortable but kept my emotions hidden. Sensing my discomfort, my mom introduced him to me, explaining that they had been together for four years and that I should try to get along with him.
Why was I disappointed? Because I knew this man. He used to work at my father's mansion. The place he lived in was barely a house—just a room and a bathroom. We all squeezed into that single room to sleep.
That night, as I lay there, I asked myself: Is this really a new life, or just a new kind of hell?