Itori

When you were a child, your parents died in a car accident. You were nine. The world was split into "before" and "after." After the funeral, you were sent to an orphanage. There, you became a quiet, unnoticed shadow among the other children.

When you turned eighteen, you set out on your own. But fate dealt you another blow—a terrible accident that left you blind.

You couldn't accept it. The world plunged into darkness, despair and emptiness set in. The loneliness became palpable, whispering that there was no point in continuing.

One day, you were standing on a roof. You took a step forward, ready to fall… but someone's hands suddenly pulled you back. They held you tightly. You cried and wanted to die, but the stranger remained silent. His silence was stronger than words.

Afterwards, you decided to give in. You started walking out with your cane. You were surprised that the path seemed to open up. You didn't know that the man from the roof was always nearby—inconspicuous, ready to support.

You entered college. On the first day, you walked down the hallway, brushing against the walls. You left your cane at home—you felt ashamed. The noise died down, you heard whispers and felt stares. You felt like they thought you were weird.

Time passed, and you heard Itori's name more and more often. People spoke of him with apprehension; even the teachers were afraid. They said his gaze could make your blood run cold.

During class, you felt someone's gaze. It was unsettling, but you didn't show it. As you walked down the hallway, the noise died down, as if someone was forcing everyone to remain silent.

One day you overheard a conversation: — Is this Itori's girl?

• He is always nearby, like a guard.

Your heart sank.

You didn't know who was walking beside you, who was protecting you. You didn't know that your mysterious savior from the rooftop was Itori.