In a small town somewhere in Kazakhstan, a boy was born.
From the moment he entered this world, he was different.
He was thin, physically weak, and seemingly born without any talent.
His appearance was unusual—crimson-red eyes, black hair, sharp canine teeth that resembled a vampire's, and a small black mole just beneath the left side of his lower lip.
But in Kazakhstan, an appearance like his was considered strange.
Because of that, no one wanted to accept him as a friend.
Instead, whenever the other children played superheroes, they always gave him the role of the monster—the villain they had to defeat.
One day, the children formed a superhero team.
"Let's defeat the monster!"
They began throwing stones at the weak boy.
The boy fell to the ground and immediately covered himself with his arms.
But one of the stones struck him directly on the head.
A small stream of blood slowly appeared on his forehead.
His arms, which he had raised to protect himself, were covered in bruises, with a few small cuts bleeding slightly.
The stones weren't particularly large.
But they were still enough to hurt him.
The children finally stopped.
Then they began celebrating.
"We defeated the monster!"
"That was awesome!"
The weak boy had always remained silent, even when his peers bullied him—even when their words and actions hurt him.
He never fought back.
To his peers, he wasn't even a human being.
He was nothing more than a monster.
And they never hesitated to hurt him.
After the weak boy's parents learned about what had happened to him, they rarely allowed him to go outside.
However, one day, the weak boy wanted to go outside and play.
So he went outside.
But even after he went outside, there were no children who wanted to let him join their games.
The weak boy approached the same group of children he had known before—his former peers.
But the children excluded him and chased him away.
The weak boy returned home.
As soon as he entered the house, he saw his father kneeling on the floor.
And there was his mother, unconscious and bleeding.
Blood had also spread across the floor.
The weak boy stood frozen for a while, unable to recover from the shock.
His father's hand was slightly covered in blood.
And he looked at the weak boy with a frightening gaze.
The weak boy became afraid and trembled slightly, but tried to remain calm.
Then, in a trembling voice, he asked in fear and disbelief,
"Father... what did you do?"
The weak boy's father answered with a cold expression and a cold voice.
"Yes... I killed her."
The weak boy's father paused for a moment before continuing.
"I didn't like the way she always acted like some kind of hero."
He paused again.
"She was always protecting the weak..."
The weak boy stared at his father in disbelief, his voice filled with sorrow.
"Father..."
The weak boy's father continued.
"Her insistence on pushing forward her worthless ideology led to this... She got what she deserved."
The weak boy remained standing there in fear and shock, completely silent.
The weak boy's father was named Rasul—Rasul Duisenuly. He was forty-two years old at the time.
Rasul continued,
"I never liked the way she defended that worthless ideology of hers... I will hate people like that for the rest of my life. I can't stand people like them."
There was a short silence.
Then Rasul began to speak again.
"Come on!!! I need you for my experiment. I think I raised you only for this purpose..."
The weak boy stood there silently.
Rasul suddenly burst into loud laughter and began speaking like a man who had completely lost his mind.
"I will inject you with my newest creation... the enormous power serum that I created myself. Through this, I can obtain great power."
Rasul began speaking like a mad scientist, a self-satisfied smile appearing on his face.
"I'll test it on you... and if it works, then I'll use it on myself..."
The weak boy resisted and spoke as calmly as he could.
"No... Father... You loved Mother. We... we were a wonderful family... This can't be happening..."
Rasul fell silent.
Then, in a quiet voice, he said,
"Family?... Ah, yes... There was a time when that meant something to me..."
That same self-satisfied smile appeared on Rasul's face again.
"But now... that concept is completely dead to me. You are now... nothing more than my laboratory experiment... That's all..."
Rasul was completely out of his mind.
The weak boy spoke with a sorrowful, cold expression and a sorrowful, cold voice.
"No... I don't want this. Please, Father..."
Rasul fell silent.
Then, in a quiet voice, he said,
"Then..."
Rasul suddenly went mad.
"Get out!!!"
He shouted and grabbed the weak boy tightly by the wrist, then threw him out of the house.