A city that reeks of mold and resounds with the crazed shouts of drunk men—a place so grim it feels like hell even with your eyes closed. It’s filled with lodgings for day laborers, and there’s a scattering of middle-class families. Yet, with a slum nearby and rampant crime, it’s practically treated as a slum itself by society. In that city, there was a single girl.
Her name was Iris. Nine years old. Her messy, dirty blond hair hung in scraggly tangles. Her body, painfully thin, was wrapped in rags that looked like old dishrags—far from anything one might call beautiful. Her only striking feature was her captivating emerald-green eyes.
The girl’s hair was gripped by her father.
“You! What’s the meaning of this?”
With a bottle in one hand, her father yanked at her hair, glaring at her with his naturally harsh eyes made harsher.
“P-Please, stop it, Father!”
“Don’t call me ‘Father’! I’m not even related to you by blood!”
The truth was, they were indeed related. Iris was the daughter of this man and his wife, no doubt about it. However, before her mother became pregnant, she had been involved with another man, and because of that, Iris’s father had convinced himself that she wasn’t his real daughter.
Iris’s mother had run off with that other man, leaving her behind. Her father, consumed by rage, poured it all onto Iris. Being a small girl, she had no way to resist an adult man’s strength, and she suffered daily, subjected to senseless violence.
Her father was cunning—he never left bruises or marks, only hurting her in ways that left no visible scars, keeping any sign of her abuse hidden from others.
“Mom…” Iris whispered through her tears, longing for her mother. Her father, enraged by this, threw the bottle in his hand against the wall. The shattering sound startled Iris, who flinched.
“Your mother’s a filthy whore who ran off with another man! You got that? She abandoned you. Your mother’s trash, and so are you—nobody’s ever gonna love you!”
“Mommy!” Iris’s cry echoed, but her tears only provoked more violence from her father. And so, she continued to cry until her tears dried up, her small body shaken and swung like a ragdoll.
◇
“Hey, Aldo, how’s little Iris doing?”
In a tavern, one of the regulars struck up a conversation. He was a man who reeked of alcohol and was an acquaintance of Iris’s father, Aldo.
“Doing fine, I guess. The kid’s pretty frail, though,” Aldo replied with a laugh. “Gotta make a living to support her, huh?”
“If you’ve got the money to drink, maybe buy her some clothes, yeah?”
“Hey now, who talks about that in a tavern? Lighten up!”
Aldo laughed cheerfully with his friends, the complete opposite of the man Iris saw at home.
Reclining in his chair, Aldo accidentally bumped into a man behind him, who looked like a dazed vagrant.
“Ah, sorry about that.”
Aldo quickly apologized, but the man mumbled something under his breath, his eyes empty.
“Wh-What the…? Creepy guy…” Aldo muttered.
“Mumbling… it’s you… all because of you… you…!” the man growled. He grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it against Aldo’s head.
“Agh…”
Aldo’s vision went black, his consciousness slipping away. When he finally regained some awareness, his vision was hazy.
“Someone! Hey, someone get the innkeeper! Aldo’s hurt!”
“Uh…”
Aldo struggled to move his fingers, barely able to grasp anything as his consciousness faded. No one would ever know his final thoughts; his awareness ended there, never to return.
◇
“…!”
A man opened his eyes, clutching his throbbing head. In front of him was a white bed, white curtains, and a man in white clothing.
“You’re awake?”
“Um…”
The man looked around. What time was it? Where was he? Who was this person? So many questions spun in his mind, but one thought rose above the rest.
“Who… am I?”
The doctor sighed. “Seems like you’ve lost your memory.”
“Memory…? Ugh.” Another sharp pain pierced his head as he closed his eyes and clutched his head.
“No wonder. After a blow like that, it’s not strange to lose a memory or two.”
“W-Why am I even alive?”
Clutching his head, he muttered, lost in thought, barely aware of his own words.
“I’m a doctor. You passed out after being struck in a tavern.”
“R-Really?”
“Yes. Your name is Aldo. Does that ring a bell?”
“No… I know one thing, though—my name isn’t Aldo.”
Despite not knowing his name, he felt certain it wasn’t Aldo. The doctor sighed.
“You seem confused. You have a daughter—do you remember her?”
“A daughter… no. My daughter and my wife both died. And I should have died following them.”
He gripped the bed sheets tightly, his lips pressing together. The doctor sighed once more.
“This is a tough case. Well, go home and rest for a while. You might remember more once you’re home.”
“Where… where is my home?”
The doctor exhaled heavily. “I’ll contact a friend to take you home.”
The man, recovering in the hospital, gradually accepted his name as Aldo and began regaining his sense of self. Although diagnosed with some memory confusion, he was physically sound, and soon prepared for discharge.
A familiar face from the tavern came to collect him.
“Hey, Aldo! Couldn’t believe it when I heard you lost your memory.”
“Um… are you someone I know?”
The man laughed. “Forgot my face, huh? Well, let’s get you home. Iris’ll be worried.”
“Yes…”
The man clapped Aldo on the back. “Ouch…”
“Don’t act all polite with me! Just speak normally.”
“Uh, okay. Is this better?”
“It’ll do. Let’s get you back to Iris.”
Aldo walked through the slums, guided by his acquaintance, shrinking away from the stench and flinching at the brawls around him until they arrived at his home.
“This is it. Give Iris my regards.”
“Th-Thank you.”
The man left with a wave, muttering about going back for another drink.
This was Aldo’s home. Swallowing nervously, he opened the door.
The creak of wood echoed as the door swung open, startling a girl hiding in the back of the house.
“A-Ah…”
Iris, trembling, had enjoyed a few peaceful days in his absence but now feared the end of that tranquility.
Seeing her, Aldo smiled gently.
“I’m home.”
