Chapter 1
In a world that barely noticed, a boy was born into a family neither rich nor poor—comfortable, but unremarkable. From the very start, he was different. A boy with intelligence that far exceeded his years, yet carrying with him a strange void, a peculiar absence where most children had warmth, laughter, and tears. He was like an old book bound in the skin of a child, its pages blank and waiting to be written upon.
Yet he was without the usual softness of a child's heart. Emotions were foreign to him, like distant, unreachable stars, cold and unfeeling. His gaze was calm, calculating—his world colored not by childish wonder but by logic and pragmatism. To his family, his demeanor was peculiar, even unsettling. His father tried to soften these edges by introducing him to the world of stories and imagination. They watched countless movies and cartoons together, his father's hearty laughter filling the room as they watched heroes rise and villains fall.
One day, a thought crossed the boy's mind, sharp and clear, like lightning flashing across a dark sky: Why does the villain always lose?
Curiosity gnawed at him, and so he voiced his question to his father. His father's answer was casual, almost dismissive. "Because he's the bad guy, son. The villain is supposed to lose."
But this response did not satisfy him. No—something was amiss. The boy thought, If the villain is clever enough to create such chaos, why is he careless enough to leave so many clues behind?
It bothered him deeply. To him, this was not a tale of good versus evil; it was a story of imperfection, a flaw in design. In this world of heroes and villains, the hero was always painted as infallible, an embodiment of virtue and strength. But the villain? The villain was left to stumble and falter, leaving breadcrumbs for the hero to follow, exposing their intentions, their ambitions, with careless abandon. It seemed… absurd.
For the first time, the boy felt something close to a purpose take root within him—a desire to create perfection where none existed. And it began to bloom in the darkness of his mind, twisting and winding like the roots of an ancient tree. In a world where heroes were perfect, he would become the villain. But not just any villain—one who left no clues, made no mistakes, held no weakness for the hero to exploit.
In this pursuit, he began to change. He studied everything that could make him unbreakable. He sought knowledge in books, observed people's actions, dissected the fabric of society, all in the quest to become a shadow in plain sight—a perfectionist without empathy, without flaw.
Smile.
The irony of his ambition was not lost on him. In a life lived without laughter, without a single moment of genuine joy or warmth, his lips had never curved in a smile.