In those chaotic times, simply maintaining basic order—ensuring no child in the orphanage lost their life—was already a miracle. Anything beyond that was a luxury no one could afford to consider.

Yet for Him, this environment felt strangely familiar.

He’d learned from observing the young of these creatures called humans: here, seizing others’ food through force or deceit was acceptable. Conveniently, He’d witnessed such acts for years—only the players had shifted from animals to humans. Humans were just another animal. No difference.

Soon, the unlikely pair—the doormat and the troublemaker—became symbols of "strength" within the orphanage walls. At first, skeptics still tried stealing the quiet girl’s food. But the silent troublemaker would always snatch back even more from their hands. Even older children’s brute force proved useless against Him. Compared to wild beasts, human cubs were painfully frail.

Gradually, no one dared bully anyone—not just the doormat, but all the children.

All because of her.

Logically, gaining power meant turning on the weak. Many here did exactly that. But she didn’t. She used her strength to restrain others, stopping them from hurting anyone.

The first one she restrained was Him.

To Him, taking food directly from bullies had become perfectly reasonable. He saw no "good" or "bad" children—wild animals did far worse to survive. And was survival ever "wrong"?

So even after no one dared touch Him or her, He didn’t change. One day, He snatched a loaf from a boy who’d never even provoked Him.

Before He could take another step, she shouted: "Stop that! Give it back!"

He froze, confused. Why was this suddenly forbidden?

Seeing Him unmoving, she puffed her cheeks in frustration. "I never taught you to bully others."

He obeyed—not understanding why, only knowing He never wanted to see her angry. Anger was for enemies. He refused to make her one.

"Here." She snatched the bread, didn’t glance at it once, and handed it to the stunned boy.

The boy hesitated. This had never happened before. But hunger won—he took it.

"You have something to say, right?" She planted her hands on her hips.

"...Thank you." The words came out stiff and quiet. Adults preached gratitude, but here, saying it invited trouble. In this cramped orphanage, everyone walked on eggshells. Yet today felt different.

Why?

Because of her bright, unguarded "No need!"?

During free time that morning, He found her and finally spoke—His first voluntary words beyond mimicry. He’d mastered human speech through her lessons, but speaking still felt unnatural.

"Why?"

She blinked in surprise. "You can talk?"

He nodded, waiting.

"Because... bullying is wrong." She met His gaze. "When they hurt me, it felt awful. So I won’t make others feel awful too."

The logic escaped Him. Living things avoided pain, but never hesitated to inflict it. Understanding didn’t matter—He had her to guide Him.

Under their unlikely alliance, the orphanage’s atmosphere shifted. She preached kindness; He enforced it. When the strongest child stopped bullying, others followed. Sneaky tormenters still lurked at first—but her complaints would bring Him swiftly. Slowly, the cruelty faded. Even the adults hadn’t achieved this.

No one cared. To the staff, these children were just resources. The world called them "hope," but hope didn’t fill stomachs.

He studied her, yet her actions deepened His confusion. Nothing about her defied animal instinct. Why did she smile when others ate full meals? Hyenas stole from leopards—that was nature. The other children’s cruelty made sense.

Back then, He simply didn’t understand humans.

She didn’t mind His confusion. Seeing no child bullied was joy enough.

They ate together. Learned together. Spent afternoons soaking in sunlight—though He longed to take her to the quiet, sun-drenched roof. She feared heights. So they stayed ground-bound.

One golden afternoon, she patiently coaxed words from Him (He could speak well enough; He just preferred silence). Suddenly, He turned. Two sparrows landed on a branch, plump bodies huddled for warmth. More soon crowded in.

"Look! Sparrows!" Her face melted into pure delight.

In that instant, He understood.

Just as He craved her smile, she did those incomprehensible things for one reason: to see more smiles.

Did it need a reason? Maybe. Did it matter? Not really.

He began to understand humans.