Ignoring the director's frozen expression, Noir shifted his gaze forward once more toward the group of children playing soccer across the field.

To others, it might have looked like a simple and lively scene. But it was different for Noir.

Out of fifteen children, six of them were shrouded in an eerie black mist—some so faint it could be mistaken as mere shadows, but there was one whose black mist was thicker than most, making them appear like a little black person from afar.

He called it—the aura of death.

The thicker the black mist was, the sooner you would die. That's the conclusion Noir had drawn after years of observation.

For as long as he could remember, he had always possessed this ability.

Or maybe, it would be more accurate to call it a curse, for nothing good had ever come out of it.

Of course, he didn't think anything was wrong with him at first. Little Noir, who had just entered the orphanage back then, assumed that everyone else was the same as him. And due to his taciturn and quiet temperament, no one discovered this peculiarity about him—not the orphanage director, not even any of the children.

Until it came to his first adoptive family.

That year, he had been brought along to celebrate his maternal grandfather's 70th birthday. It was also the special occasion when he would be formally introduced to the rest of the family members. However, an unexpected twist happened when Little Noir laid his eyes on the old man—the black mist around him was so thick that the boy couldn't even discern his appearance.

Naïve as he was, he didn't think twice before asking, "Grandpa, why can't I see your face? Will you die soon?"

The lively atmosphere had gone deathly silent in an instant, and only then did Noir realize—oh, I am not supposed to say that.

The rest of the uncles and aunties had smoothed out the tension by chuckling softly, saying that children knew nothing and it's natural for them to speak nonsense, and asking the old man not to mind because he was still so hale and hearty so of course he would live past a hundred.

Afterwards, Noir was told to apologize and so he did, no longer speaking another word for the rest of the night. But he knew that his words had made some impact, because the old man didn't seem to like him much, which left his adoptive parents in an awkward position.

It was completely understandable. After all, who would like having a child speak such ominous words on one's birthday?

Although the jovial atmosphere returned soon, an underlying unease seemed to linger in the air.

And then, chaos broke out the very next day, sooner than anyone could expect.

The old man was found dead on his bed, having suffered from a sudden heart attack in the middle of the night.

From that day on, the way everyone looked at Noir changed, that included his adoptive parents' loving and gentle demeanor.

The seven-year-old Noir learned the most profound emotion in their eyes—it was fear.

They feared him, feared what he might see, feared what he might say.

Not long after that incident, the couple sent him back to the orphanage.

The same instance happened to the next families he had gone with. Although Noir no longer carelessly spoke the word 'death', he couldn't resist advising them to take good care of their health, to be more careful on the road, and to watch out for the people around them.

After all, these people were his 'family'. How was he supposed to keep mum when he knew that an accident would befall them soon?

Alas, it all ended up for naught.

Despite his careful attempts, once an accident truly happened, they would change the way they treated him and even accused him as an unlucky child, a misfortune star who would bring disaster to whoever dared to bring him home. Therefore, he advised the director against searching for another family for him. He couldn't bear to see her work so hard, only for it all to go down the drain.

Because the same thing would happen all over again anyway.

It was useless.

The people who had once treated him with love and gentleness would eventually look at him with horror in their eyes as though he was a devil incarnate.

Perhaps this person, too, would come to fear him sooner or later.

"See that person?" Noir lifted his small hand and pointed.

The director, startled out of her trance, instinctively followed the line of his finger. "Who—"

"He will die very soon."

The director froze.

Stiffly turning to the boy, she found him with the same quiet and well-behaved look on his face as if he had not just blurted out something horrifying with the most casual tone. It took her a while to squeeze out a smile on her face, forcing out, "W-What are you—"

Screeechh—!

All of a sudden, an out-of-control truck veered off the road, careening straight toward the middle-aged man who was walking toward his car and crushing him against the wall behind. Blood splattered onto the shattered front windscreen, while broken limbs and bloody flesh were stuck between the asphalt road and the tyres.

Everything happened in a mere instant, so swift and merciless that no one had the time to react.

"A-AHHHHH…!!!"

"HELP—SOMEONE DIED!!!"

The accident broke out just outside the orphanage gate, and from where Noir and the director were sitting, they could see it as clear as day. As terrified screams tore through the air and chaos rippled among the pedestrians, the director remained frozen on her seat with her face drained of all colors, feeling as if she had fallen into an ice cellar.

Beside her, the nine-year-old boy spoke in an even, detached tone, "See?"

Her neck stiffly turned to him, her trembling lips parting, "H-How—"

"I told you, I can see it."

The boy's lips twisted into a small, mirthless smile. "I can see when they will die, Director. Do you believe it now? Will you…" those round emerald eyes peered up at her, so innocent yet chilling at the same time. "...fear me too, like they did?"