' That is Asser’s voice. What is happening? '

  Elian did not have the luxury of contemplating for long, as he soon heard his younger brother’s voice again, wailing:

  " Lillian, stop hittin' me! Argh! "

  In that instant, Elian jerked his head out of the sink, only to hear the sharp, jarring crack of something striking the floor and shattering.

  Accompanied by a creeping sense of dread, a shiver coursed through Elian’s body. He shut the faucet without a second thought and rushed toward the source of the sound to check on his brother.

  Since he hadn't had the chance to wipe the water from his face, his vision was limited—almost non-existent—as he had not yet opened his eyes; even if he had, it would have been of little use in the present darkness of the house.

  But he did not truly require sight to navigate the domicile where he dwelt.

  Soon, his hand finally brushed against the threshold of his room’s door, where he could hear the sound of trembling sobs emanating from the corner.

  Elian began to dry the water from his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, and with his other hand, he hurried to switch on the room’s lamp.

  " Asser, what happened? Why did you scream? "

  In response to his inquiry, he received no answer, but rather more silent weeping. Thus, he opened his eyes to see the cause for himself, and his vision began to take in the interior of the room.

  Asser was sitting on the floor in the corner, clutching his knees and burying his head between his legs, while his shoulders shook violently with his sobs.

  In the room, it was evident that a great deal of chaos had transpired.

  Some clothes were strewn across the floor in random corners, with scattered shards of broken glass here and there.

  The room’s chair lay upside down—and no, this was not a mere metaphor; the chair was literally inverted, yet it was not cast upon one of its sides.

  And finally, there was an ominous hammer lying on the floor before Asser.

  Elian felt a surge of panic for his brother at the sight before him.

  " Asser, who did this to— "

  " YOU ANIMAL! "

  Elian didn’t even have the chance to finish his question before he was interrupted by his mother’s enraged scream; then, she shoved him aside with enough force to send him crashing to the floor.

  It was not easy to judge their relationship by the normal standards of a man and a woman.

  For Elian was gaunt despite his height, poorly nourished and accompanied by a fragility in his physical build. Conversely, his mother possessed a voluminous physique, easily exceeding a hundred and twenty kilograms.

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  Driven by an excessive "maternal instinct," it was simple for her to push her son—who did not even weigh half her own mass—and hurl him to the ground.

  But the physical explanation of this event—which was not rare in their relationship—

  soon receded into secondary importance.

  " You worthless, low-life scoundrel! You dare to strike your brother?! "

  Fury contorted the woman’s face as she glared intensely at her eldest son, who reminded her so much of her husband.

  " Mother, I— "

  " SHUT UP! "

  Before his mother’s wrathful screaming, Elian could do nothing but tremble slightly in that moment.

  Then, like a hideous beast, his mother rose from the floor while picking up the household hammer, and began to pace toward Elian with heavy steps filled with pure hatred.

  What was occurring now seemed particularly absurd, devoid of all rationality.

  But if rationality had existed, Elian would not have suffered in the first place.

  In the corner, Asser finally raised the head he had hidden behind his hands all along.

  Only to fix Elian with a look of pure malice, appearing exceedingly delighted.

  On the other side, Elian tried to retreat backward, but at some point, he found that the door behind him was bolted.

  ' Why is the door locked?! '

  He was not yet able to stand and attempt to open the door or run, as he was already feeling dizzy from the fall and his previous bleeding—not to mention that he had not yet consumed a single thing.

  But the world does not pity the weak; it is not a rosy novel filled with happy events.

  Soon, his mother reached him.

  Every trace of irrationality was evident in her gaze.

  As if glares were not enough to express her savagery, she began to rain blows upon him with what she held in her hand.

  And that object was not a matter of minor concern.

  Just an ominous hammer—God knows where it came from!

  Everything was surreal and terrifying.

  But it did not paralyze our protagonist.

  Elian curled his legs to protect his abdomen while shielding his head with his hands, driven by the instinct of survival; yet the accompanying pain was still present.

  Even if his mother were relatively weak, she was still striking him with a hammer!

  In the end, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, Elian managed to rise from the floor, shove his mother away, and throw open the door, exiting the room.

  Ignoring his mother’s shriek labeling him a disobedient son,

  Elian ran without stopping toward the house’s main door, fleeing that cursed place to which he was bound only by negative memories.

  What had just transpired was profoundly frightening.

  Some might believe that only ghosts are terrifying, while family is not.

  But pure physical violence is sometimes more frightening than any phantom.

  He quickly ran down the stairs until he reached the ground floor, feeling the loathing and latent rage within him from the violence he had just endured.

  And as he was about to exit the building’s gate, two individuals standing at the entrance stopped him.

  " Wait a moment. "

  " Hmm? "

  Elian had not looked closely at the two men, but looking at them now, their white clothes with yellow star-shaped buttons were clear.

  At their belts, both men carried pistols, displayed openly without concealment.

  And on their arms, one carried a tightly wrapped brassard below the shoulder in yellow, while the other wore one in orange.

  " We would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. "

  The one who had just spoken was the one wearing the orange brassard, looking at Elian with suspicion.

  Doubtless, he would do so, as the young man before him bore traces of blood, and the disarray of his clothes was evident.

  Elian wiped the sweat from his forehead from the sprint down the stairs, then replied while catching his breath:

  " How can I help you, officers? "