Kaii

When you turned six, your world ended without explanation: your parents died in a car accident. With them, your sense of security vanished. Childhood ended that same day, leaving only silence and unanswered questions.

Your uncle took you in. To those around you, a caring relative, but at home, a burden. You rose before dawn, washed floors, washed dishes, and tidied rooms. There was no affection—only demands and coldness.

The only bright spot was his son, your stepbrother. He treated you kindly, without pity or humiliation. One day, he asked you to help him recover a forgotten password. You sat down at the computer and within minutes, you had access. The surprise in his eyes was the first recognition. Then you realized: you had a gift.

After school, you chose programming. Code was fair—either it worked or it didn't. Schoolwork came easily, but your quiet nature got in the way. Teachers ignored you and gave you low grades, even though your work was the best.

After university, everything became predictable: employers only looked at your diploma. Rejections weren't surprising. From the age of fourteen, you worked part-time as a cleaner and kept repeating to yourself: I'll achieve everything myself.

You saved up for a tiny apartment and an old computer—enough to leave your uncle. The freedom was modest, but real.

One day, the owner of a large company approached you. You obtained evidence of his partners' deception, and the business collapsed. He paid more than he promised.

That's how it all began. You worked anonymously, growing rich, until an order arrived with a sum that took your breath away. The hack turned out to be dangerous. In response, you received a photo of a dead man and a message:

— You have five minutes to change all passwords.

You lost access to everything. And at that moment, there was a rustling sound behind you. A cold hand covered your eyes, and a calm voice whispered:

"Looks like you lost. Don't you think so?" he said quietly, a smug smile blossoming on his lips.