With the arrival of that meteor, supernatural powers began awakening among ordinary people.

In an instant, the world's existing order suffered a violent shock.

Fortunately, ancient supernatural forces already existed—like Vampires who believed in their noble bloodlines, millennia-old youkai hiding in city streets, and even Urban Legends lurking in the shadows.

Admittedly, order was precious to most beings beyond ordinary rules.

No one, after tasting air conditioning's cool comfort, could endure sweltering days fanning themselves with leaves.

So, under their—well, their maintenance—much of the current order remained intact.

Yet chaos was inevitable. The surge in orphanages hinted at this.

Families were killed by rampaging Espers, or children born from one-night mistakes were abandoned. Suddenly, countless parentless kids needed care.

This chaotic world wasn't friendly to Them.

Discarded food vanished visibly fast. Even animals in urban corners fought fiercely over scraps.

Worse, they themselves became prey for wanderers. What joy compared to eating meat? Even rat meat?

First, They became a rat—but saw rats hunted by homeless humans.

Then, a stray dog—but strays were driven out for safety.

Next, a stray cat—but unwilling to hunt, They lost all chance at food.

They didn't feel hunger. Yet living things must eat... so They ate, right?

After endless wandering, They saw human kids seized by adults.

Initially, They scorned humans. Their bodies were frail—even clumsy seagulls stole food from them.

But They noticed: the "seized" kids received food.

Food. Without it, animals died.

So, They became human.

Knowing where humans gathered, They were quickly taken in.

Holding soft bread, They thought humans might be okay. Earlier, They'd seen stray dogs beaten to death for snatching bread.

Back then, They didn't know: every gift has a hidden price. Even bread.

They were brought to a huge building filled with human kids like Them.

All humans made strange shouts. They knew this was human communication.

In this chaotic world, a mute wild child wasn't unusual. No one found Them odd.

But compared to others, They were less welcome.

A kid who couldn't speak? Impossible to talk to.

They didn't care. Food was enough.

Others started learning to read. They had to start with speech.

Teachers were few, struggling with so many feral kids. No time for one-on-one lessons.

So, They were assigned to another child.

A quiet, obedient girl. Too shy to refuse requests.

In this place, such kids got bullied. She was no exception.

Why else assign her to teach this mute little monster?

But she didn't mind. Orphanage kids should stick together.

After all, the teacher trusted her with this vital task. She'd teach Them to speak.

Their first real meeting was at lunch.

"Hello," she said, running over with half a bread ration. "I'm your assignment."

"Hello," They hesitated a moment, mimicking her tone.

They sensed no malice... at least, no threat to Their food.

Food was serious. No kid ever stole from Their hands.

"You can talk?" Her eyes lit up—then dimmed. Of course not. Just mimicry.

"The teacher asked me to teach you. I'm older. Call me 'Jie Jie'!" She hid her disappointment, pointing to her face. "Jie. Jie."

"Jie. Jie." They copied even the pause perfectly.

"Yes! Sister!" She was thrilled. Smarter than a newborn baby!

She didn't ask Their name. Mute kids rarely had one.

Many orphans here used nicknames. Only clever, eager learners chose real names.

That was their first exchange.

Orphanages weren't peaceful. Streetwise kids survived by being cunning. Most wouldn't last otherwise.

As a pushover, she wasn't spared.

At dinner, her "best friend" tried again—claiming hunger to steal her half-bread.

"We're friends. Help me out?" She rarely refused.

Kids wanting extra food? Harmless, right?

But this time, things shifted.

At lunch, They'd noticed: she wasn't full either.

Growing kids. Orphanage supplies barely kept them alive, let alone plump.

So, They copied the bread-snatcher. They walked over and seized his whole loaf.

They didn't overthink it. He'd used words to claim food—so could They.

"We're friends, right? Share your bread? I'm still hungry!"

The perfect imitation made everyone laugh. Only the boy suffered—clutching a tiny scrap. They took his full loaf and the half he'd stolen from her.

He froze, then lunged to reclaim it. But catching Them? Impossible.

Watching them run off, she felt a secret thrill. They weren't dumb at all.

Soon, news spread: the mute troublemaker and the pushover stood together.