Mother Who Left Home, Vicious Aunt...

The next day, at dusk.

"I'm back."

Inside the Tree of Knowledge, mottled light and shadow danced, while the still air carried the distinctive fragrance of books and old paper.

Robin emerged from the grand, parchment-and-ink-scented interior of the Tree of Knowledge, carrying several heavy books in her arms.

She softly bade farewell to Doctor Clover, whose hair and beard were both white, and several scholars still absorbed in their research. Behind her came the now-familiar praise for her astonishing knowledge and memory.

The scholars' gazes were gentle and full of expectation, but once that heavy wooden door closed, all that warmth was sealed away in another world.

Robin lowered her head and hurried toward her nominal "home"—the residence of an uncle who had hardly ever given her any warmth.

Yet this road home was never peaceful. The moment she stepped onto the town's stone-paved streets, several half-grown children crawled out from alleyways and corners like hyenas scenting blood, blocking her path.

"Look! It's that monster girl!"

"Monster! Get out of our town!"

"Go die, monster!"

Filthy insults flew at her like Ice-cold pebbles, accompanied by sharp stones. One stone with a jagged edge grazed her forehead, bringing a stab of pain as a thin line of crimson slowly seeped out.

But Robin did not even pause, much less raise a hand to wipe it away. She only lowered her head further and continued forward in silence as usual, as though that small body enduring the blows did not belong to her.

Seeing that she bore it as she always did, neither crying nor resisting, the children's initial excitement quickly turned to boredom.

The curses and thrown stones gradually became less frequent. In the end, they spat a few times and scattered off to find new amusement.

Only after those figures had completely vanished from sight did Robin's tense shoulders relax ever so slightly.

She quickened her pace and returned to the low house.

Creak—

The old wooden door was pushed open, then gently closed. Robin leaned against it, her small chest rising and falling faintly. Dim light streamed in through the window, illuminating the simple, even shabby furnishings inside.

She stood quietly for a moment and listened carefully. There was no movement in the kitchen, and the living room was empty as well. Her uncle had not returned yet, and that harsh aunt was probably out chatting with the neighbors again.

After confirming that no one was around, Robin's tightly drawn shoulders finally slumped. She hurried to the corner of the room, curled up, and buried her face deeply in her knees.

Her thin shoulders began to tremble slightly as silent sobs spread through the quiet room. Tears slid down soundlessly, soaking the little dress she had worn for five years, washed pale but still neat.

She was, after all, only a seven-year-old child. How could those vicious words and Ice-cold stones not hurt her and leave her feeling wronged?

But ever since her mother had left, she had essentially lived on her own. She had long been forced to learn endurance and maturity far beyond that of children her age.

She knew clearly that in this "home," and in the world outside, showing weakness would only invite more harm.

After crying for a while, she had vented some of her emotions. Robin suddenly raised her head and vigorously wiped the tear tracks from her face with her sleeve.

"Right, I almost forgot. I still have chores to do, or Auntie will scold me when she gets back."

She stood up and skillfully found a rag, broom, and bucket. Fetching water, wiping the furniture, sweeping the floor... Long-term malnutrition made her movements somewhat unsteady, and the wound on her forehead where the stone had grazed her still throbbed faintly, but she completed every task with meticulous care.

In this "home," though she was nominally their niece, she was actually more like an unpaid servant. Her aunt took it for granted that all the housework should be dumped on her. Worse still, in five years, her aunt had never bought her a single new piece of clothing.

By the time she finished cleaning, the sky outside had already darkened. A fierce wave of hunger struck, and Robin's stomach growled traitorously.

She looked around and found a sandwich on the dining table that had been discarded after only one bite.

She carefully picked up the sandwich and swallowed.

"I can't eat it here, or Auntie will scold me again..."

She murmured softly. Then, as if she had thought of something, a faint glimmer flashed in her eyes.

"I should go there instead."

She carefully wrapped the sandwich in a handkerchief, tucked it into her clothes, and hurriedly left that Ice-cold "home" once more.

More than ten minutes later, on Ohara's northwestern coast.

Robin moved through the lush forest outside town with practiced ease. Her small figure darted nimbly between the thick trees. Whenever she encountered a steep rock face, she did not even need to use her hands; several hands would quietly sprout from the stone, supporting her ankles or waist and helping her leap upward with ease.

Before long, she arrived at a relatively low rock facing the sea.

This was her secret "refuge." Only when facing this boundless ocean could she feel a rare trace of peace and freedom.

She gently let out a breath, composed herself, and sat on the rock. Carefully unfolding the handkerchief, she took out the sandwich and began eating it in small bites.

After eating more than half, her hunger eased somewhat. Just then, something unusual on the shore not far away caught the corner of her eye.

Large fragments of wooden planks were scattered across the beach, like the wreckage of some unfortunate ship. And atop one larger plank, there seemed to be a... person curled up there?

"Was someone shipwrecked?"

Her kind instincts made her rise immediately. After a brief moment of thought, she rewrapped and put away the remaining sandwich. Then, using arms that sprouted from the rocks, she made a few light bounds and arrived at the shoreline strewn with broken wood.

She cautiously approached the largest plank. Curled up on it was an exceptionally tall man. Even curled up, his size was clearly far beyond that of an ordinary person.

He had a head of dazzling golden hair that remained striking even in the dim light. It hung wetly around him, covering part of his face. His eyes were shut, and he seemed unconscious.

Robin hesitated for a moment before extending a slender finger and lightly poking his cheek.

He was warm to the touch. He was alive.

At that moment, the man seemed disturbed by the faint touch. His eyelashes fluttered a few times before he groggily opened his eyes.

What entered his vision was a little girl in an old dress, with a trace of dried blood on her forehead, black hair, and blue eyes. Her gaze held vigilance and a barely noticeable hint of curiosity.

It worked!

Dawn silently considered himself lucky. He had not expected to encounter his target after waiting just one day.

Before falling asleep, he had considered the possibility of being discovered by someone else. Fortunately, that had not happened.

He immediately adjusted his expression, forcing a pained look onto his face as he bared his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Hiss—It hurts, it hurts..."

TO BE CONTINUED