(27 years ago)
[Inside the Black Zone]
The Black Zone never slept.
Even at dawn, when the sky should have been painted with soft colors, the light that reached the streets was dull and sickly, filtered through layers of smoke, dust, and decaying buildings piled on top of one another. The air smelled of rust, oil, and something permanently burned.
That was where Rumi lived.
She was sixteen years old.
Rumi walked carefully through the narrow alleys, holding a small cloth bag tightly against her chest. Her steps were light—not because she wanted to be quiet, but because she had learned by instinct that making noise attracted trouble. In the Black Zone, drawing attention was dangerous.
People passed by her without looking. Some walked hunched over, exhausted. Others watched from the shadows with hollow eyes, calculating whether she was worth the risk. No one smiled. Smiles were a luxury.
Hunger was constant there. Not strong enough to kill—just strong enough to never be forgotten.
Rumi had learned how to survive early on.
She knew which streets were controlled by gangs and which were simply abandoned. She could recognize the sound of a fight before it even began, and she knew how to disappear into the crowd when voices grew too loud. She knew that if someone fell, you didn't stop to help—unless you wanted to fall with them.
Her life followed a simple routine.
Wake up.Get food.Avoid trouble.Come back alive.
That alone was considered a good day in the Black Zone.
Rumi stopped in front of an improvised stall made of scrap metal and cracked wood. An old man sat behind it, counting coins with trembling fingers. He raised his eyes when he saw her.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"I had to take a detour," Rumi replied. "There was a fight near the east corridor."
The man grunted, indifferent. He pushed a small, stale loaf of bread across the counter.
"This will keep you alive for one more day."
Rumi nodded and slid a few coins forward—almost everything she had.
Alive for one more day.
That was the silent promise behind every exchange in the Black Zone.
As she turned away, she gripped the bread tightly. It was hard, almost impossible to eat, but to her it was precious. She would split it in two later. One half now. The other at night.
She walked back through the alleys, passing younger children rummaging through trash and adults who looked as though they had long since stopped expecting anything from life.
This was normal.
This was life.
Rumi lifted her gaze to the massive walls that separated the Black Zone from the rest of the world. On the other side was a place she had never seen—clean streets, real houses, people who didn't have to fight just to wake up the next day.
She didn't dream about that world.
Dreams were dangerous too.
Instead, she whispered to herself, almost inaudible amid the noise of the streets:
"Just survive… one more day."
And in the Black Zone, even that wish required strength.
...
[In a park in the Black Zone]
Rumi was sitting on a rusted bench, the cracked wood creaking under her weight. In front of her, the gray sky stretched like a broken ceiling—no sun, no hope. She held the hard bread with both hands, trying to tear off small pieces with her teeth.
"Sometimes I wonder…" she murmured, her voice low, almost swallowed by the wind. "Do people already come into the world destined for a good life… or a bad one?"
She took another bite of the bread, grimacing at its dry taste.
As she chewed, she heard hurried footsteps approaching. Rumi turned her head instinctively.
A little boy, about fourteen years old, was running through the park with desperation written all over his face. His clothes were torn, covered in dust, and he was limping slightly. Close behind him were three other boys, taller than him, laughing as they chased him.
"Hey! Get back here!" one of them shouted.
Rumi watched the scene for just a few seconds… and then looked away, returning her attention to the bread.
This isn't my problem, she thought. Around here, it's normal for a kid to get beaten up now and then.
In the Black Zone, interfering almost always meant bringing unnecessary trouble upon yourself.
The footsteps and voices quickly moved away from the park.
Silence.
...
[In an alley]
The boy stumbled as he entered the narrow alley and fell to his knees on the dirty ground. Before he could get back up, the other three had already surrounded him.
"Did you really think you could run away?" the biggest one mocked, nudging him with his foot.
"I… I didn't do anything…" the boy said, trying to crawl backward.
"Shut up!"
A punch hit his shoulder. Then another to the ribs. The boy fell onto his side, covering his head with his arms as the kicks began to rain down.
"This'll teach you not to mess with what isn't yours!""You think you can steal food and just run off?"
The boy groaned in pain, his eyes filling with tears, but he didn't scream. Screaming only made things worse in a place like this.
Then a voice cut through the alley.
"That's enough."
The three stopped.
Rumi stood at the entrance of the alley, holding the bread in one hand, looking at them with a cold expression—too tired to show fear.
"What do you want, girl?" one of the boys asked, laughing. "Gonna cry for him?"
Rumi took a few steps forward, her eyes fixed on the boy lying on the ground.
"He's learned his lesson already," she said. "Continuing now is just cowardice."
"So what?" another one shot back. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Rumi sighed.
Before they could react, she lunged forward and landed a sharp kick to the shin of the nearest boy. He screamed in pain and fell backward.
"You little—!"
The second one tried to grab her, but Rumi ducked and shoved his knee back with force, making him lose his balance. The third hesitated for an instant—and that instant was enough.
"Get out of here," Rumi said firmly. "Now."
The boys glanced at one another. None of them had expected resistance—much less from a skinny, seemingly fragile girl.
"This isn't over…" one of them muttered.
"It never is," Rumi replied.
They backed away, cursing under their breath, until they disappeared around the corner of the alley.
Silence returned.
Rumi turned to the boy on the ground.
He was trembling, his face dirty with tears and dust.
"Can you stand?" she asked.
The boy nodded slowly, still shaken.
Rumi held out her hand.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he took it.
After the boy stood up, Rumi looked him over and saw that he was okay. She then turned and began to leave the alley—but before she could go, the boy shouted:
"What's your name?!"
Rumi turned around and said, "Rumi. But I don't think that matters, since it'll be hard for us to see each other again."
The boy smiled.
"I'm Mike. Thank you so much for saving me."
Rumi didn't say anything. She simply turned around and walked away, leaving Mike standing there alone.
...
In the days that followed, Rumi returned to her routine.
Nothing had truly changed. The Black Zone remained loud, filthy, and cruel. People still fought over food, children still learned far too early how to survive on their own, and tomorrow was still just a distant idea.
She believed she would never see that boy again.
She was wrong.
Their first reunion happened by chance.
Rumi was crossing a narrow street, balancing an almost empty bag of supplies, when she heard a voice far too familiar for that place.
"Hey! Rumi!"
She stopped for half a second.
Sighed.
When she turned around, she saw Mike waving at her from the other side of the street, his face dirty but smiling as if they had parted just the day before. He was limping slightly, still carrying a few barely healed bruises.
Rumi looked away and kept walking.
Mike didn't give up.
He ran until he caught up to her, walking at her side with short steps to match her pace.
"Do you live around here?" he asked. "I almost never leave my sector, but now I'm trying to—"
Rumi didn't answer.
She kept walking as if she were alone.
Mike scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed, but kept talking anyway, as if the silence didn't bother him that much.
"I… I wanted to thank you again. That time in the alley. If you hadn't shown up—"
She suddenly stopped.
Mike almost ran into her.
"You already thanked me," Rumi said without looking at him. "You don't need to follow me."
He blinked, surprised.
"Oh… right. Sorry."
Rumi started walking again.
She thought that would be the end of it.
It wasn't.
Over the next few days, Mike began showing up from time to time. Sometimes near the improvised market, other times close to the alleys Rumi usually passed through. Never always. Never predictable.
Always smiling.
Always trying to start a conversation.
"I managed to get food today!""Look, I found this in the trash, but it still works.""Do you live alone?"
Rumi ignored almost everything.
At most, she answered with a nod or a quiet "hm" when he insisted too much. Not because she hated the boy, but because she knew how things worked there.
If you get too close, you lose something.
Or someone.
Even so, Mike kept showing up.
And… it wasn't as annoying as she had expected.
Over time, Rumi began to notice things.
Mike always shared what he had, even when it was very little. He always put himself between her and trouble whenever he noticed something wrong, even though he was clearly weaker. And, unlike almost everyone else in the Black Zone, he still laughed.
He laughed for real.
One day, while they sat on opposite sides of a broken street, Rumi noticed he was unusually quiet.
"Did you get beaten up again?" she asked, without looking at him.
Mike's eyes widened.
"…you talked to me."
Rumi frowned.
"Answer me."
He smiled, a bit crooked.
"Just a little. But it's nothing serious."
She sighed, pulled a piece of bread from her bag, and tossed it in his direction.
Mike caught it in midair, surprised.
"You didn't have to—"
"Shut up and eat," she said.
It was the first time they shared food.
After that, Rumi didn't suddenly become kind. She still kept her distance. She still spoke little.
But from time to time…
She answered.
From time to time…
She stopped to listen.
And without realizing it, the days in the Black Zone became a little less silent.
In the days that followed, the encounters between Rumi and Mike continued.
Sometimes in the park. Sometimes near the improvised stalls. Sometimes just a quick nod from a distance. Mike always tried to start a conversation, always smiled when he saw her, and Rumi almost always pretended not to notice. Almost.
Over time, however, she began to reply with single words. Then with a nod of her head. On rare days, she even shared a piece of her hard bread with him.
It was little.
But in the Black Zone, little was already a lot.
One afternoon like that, while they walked side by side in silence, Mike broke it.
"Rumi…" — he hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "If one day I get strong… I'll protect you too."
She stopped.
She slowly turned her face to look at him. For a moment, it seemed like she was going to laugh — or scold him. But she did neither.
"Don't be stupid," she said at last, resuming her walk. "Here, no one protects anyone."
Mike lagged behind for a second… and then smiled, running to catch up with her.
Rumi didn't look at him again.
But those words stayed.
They echoed in her mind far longer than she would have liked to admit.
Across the street, partially hidden among the shadows of the broken buildings, a man watched in silence.
His eyes were not on Rumi.
They were on Mike.
He took a step back, disappearing into the darkness of the Black Zone.
Rumi felt an inexplicable chill run down her spine.
Without knowing why, she quickened her pace.
In the Black Zone, children who drew too much attention rarely had happy endings.
And that was only the beginning.