Let's Start All Over Again, Shall We?

Chapter 383: Little Mute

"You used to call me Little Mute," Nathael said slowly.

Maggie was startled. She had been leaning against Nathael, but now she sat up straight, kneeling on the couch, carefully studying his face.

"Y-You're Little Mute? How is that possible?" Maggie whispered, lost in thought.

Back then, life at the orphanage was difficult. Firstly, her somewhat attractive appearance and the care she'd received from the Adams made her an outsider, often excluded by the other children. Secondly, the Camerons had instructed others to make her life miserable.

She matured quickly. Survival necessitated adaptation; otherwise, she wouldn't have gotten enough to eat. Having belongings taken, isolation, and targeted bullying were commonplace.

To avoid bullying, thrive, and improve her life, she quickly learned the orphanage's unwritten rules. Mastering these rules was essential for her survival.

Within three months, she transformed from a target into the leader of a small group, gaining the favor of teachers and other children. She cultivated a charming demeanor for visiting volunteers, secured extra food through friendships with cafeteria staff, and skillfully navigated the dynamics of reward and consequence among the children.

Perhaps it was innate, or perhaps the Adams had instilled these skills, but she adapted swiftly. While she occasionally suffered, she always retaliated.

She knew the orphanage's rules; she didn't bully, but she wasn't an easy target.

She met Leo outside an alley and Little Mute at the orphanage.

Their first encounter occurred one evening. Maggie had snuck into the backyard to retrieve hidden food when she saw several older children beating a boy.

He was slightly older and taller than her, though thin, he possessed a wiry physique. He was clearly outnumbered. Maggie was used to such scenes, but she still hated them.

She squatted nearby, observing with detached indifference, her pockets filled with candy. She thought that unless he fought back, the beating would continue indefinitely. Children, she reflected, could be crueler than adults; their cruelty was often innocent, lacking the complex wickedness of adults.

Chapter 383: Little Mute

Maggie was surprised that the boy didn't simply accept the beating, even with six or seven larger children attacking him. She was pleased, however, to see him fight back without hesitation.

His ferocity shocked her. Though his left arm was injured, hindering his fighting, he held his own, even inflicting serious injuries on several attackers despite sustaining some injuries himself. He was reckless in his self-defense.

Maggie watched for a long time; he never made a sound.

Even when a taller boy choked him from behind, others held his legs, and another punched him repeatedly, he remained silent. Even when his arm was broken and he fell into a pool of blood, he didn't cry out.

The bullies, accustomed to preying on the weak, were surprised by his resistance. Some fled, more injured than he was.

After a moment's contemplation, Maggie approached and squatted before him. "Can you still move?"

Nathael's vision swam; he was weak from escaping his kidnappers, his injuries still unhealed.

In a daze, he heard a clear, calm, almost detached voice. It sounded as though she were observing a show.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her through his thick hair.

In the moonlight, she held a piece of candy, her cheeks puffed out as she blinked her clear, curious eyes at him.

Nathael remained silent, maintaining his guard.

Maggie asked curiously, "Hungry?"

Nathael silently pushed himself up and staggered toward his assigned storage room. Maggie followed, offering support. "What's your name?"

"Can't you speak? Are you mute?"

Nathael remained silent. Maggie, refraining from further questioning, guided him to the storage room. She glanced around.

The orphanage was overcrowded. Four large rooms—two for boys, two for girls, each segregated by age—were nearly full. The boy had been assigned to the temporary storage room because there was no space in the boys' rooms.

The director planned to convert the storage room into sleeping quarters for eight to ten children.

It was a disaster. The room was cluttered with equipment, books, donated furniture, and tools.

Better clothes and food were stored elsewhere.

The items were dusty and musty, emanating a damp chill.

Maggie coughed from the dust. She saw a makeshift bed between bookshelves, with a thin blanket and pillow. It would be cold, especially on the floor.

Nathael sat on the floor, tending his wounds with iodine—an indication of resourcefulness. In the moonlight, Maggie studied him.

His hair was long, partially obscuring his eyes. He had a strong nose, pale skin, and colorless lips; he emanated a cold aura.

Recalling his ferocity, Maggie was about to speak when she heard a deep voice. "Are you done staring?"

Startled, Maggie blurted, "You're not mute?"