Chapter 1: The Game Begins

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The sun was just beginning to set over the crowded slums, casting long shadows between the tightly packed shanties of tin and wood. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fried street food, exhaust fumes, and the ever-present smell of garbage. Noir Salvador moved quietly among the bustling streets, his bare feet deftly avoiding the puddles and debris that littered the ground. He bent down, picking up a discarded tin can and slipping it into the worn sack slung over his shoulder. His hands, calloused and dirty, moved with practiced efficiency, sorting through the day's trash for anything of value. To most, this was a scene of desperation, but for Noir, it was just another day in his life—a life confined to the alleyways and backstreets of this sprawling urban jungle.

As he worked, his eyes drifted across the road to a group of children gathered outside a small convenience store. They chattered excitedly, their faces alight with joy and anticipation, their hands filled with colorful notebooks, pencils, and new school bags. The air was buzzing with their laughter as they showed off their purchases for the upcoming school term.

Noir felt a familiar pang in his chest, a mix of longing and frustration that had settled in his heart since he was old enough to understand the world around him. I've never stepped foot inside a classroom, never worn a clean school uniform, never had a brand-new pencil. But that didn't stop him. Every day, he stood just outside the windows of the local school, crouched low and hidden in the shadows, listening to the lessons he could never afford to hear firsthand.

The children's laughter grew louder, a sharp contrast to the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the weight of the sack that dragged him back to reality. Noir turned his gaze back to the ground, focusing on the task at hand. The clinking of the tin cans, the rustle of plastic, the faint sound of a teacher's voice drifting from an open window—all these noises blended together into a dull roar in his mind.

He reached for another piece of junk, a torn notebook with pages missing, and his fingers lingered over it for a moment. He flipped through the few remaining pages, his eyes skimming over the faded ink, soaking in every word, every scribble. Knowledge, however worn or second-hand, is my only escape from this life. It's my secret weapon against the cruel hand fate has dealt me.

But as he tucked the notebook into his sack, a voice called out to him from behind—a voice he knew too well.

"Noir! What are you doing there, you lazy good-for-nothing?" The voice of his adoptive father cut through the noise, slurred and heavy with anger, laced with the unmistakable scent of cheap alcohol. Noir's heart quickened. He shoved the notebook deeper into the sack, his fingers trembling. If they find out I've been teaching myself again...

The man's footsteps grew louder, each one a drumbeat of impending trouble. Noir's gaze flicked back to the children across the street, their laughter now a distant, almost surreal sound. Run. I should run. But no... that will only make it worse.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and turned to face his fate, the sun dipping lower behind him, casting a long shadow over his face—his expression hidden, but his eyes sharp and unwavering.

Even in the darkest of places, there's always a flicker of light, a glimmer of hope. And Noir held on to that with everything he had.

Noir stood still, his small frame tense as his adoptive father staggered closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and rage. The man's bloodshot eyes bore into him, searching for any reason, however slight, to unleash his frustration. Noir kept his gaze low, his mind racing with thoughts of the hidden notebook in his sack, of the words he had managed to memorize, of the lessons he carried like hidden treasures in his heart.

"What's that in your hand?" the man demanded, his voice a dangerous growl. He swayed slightly, his hand twitching as if already imagining the strike that might follow.

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