The boy woke up to a strange silence.
Not the kind that comes at night at home, when you can hear your parents breathing through the walls, but an alien one — sterile, deafening in its emptiness. The air smelled of medicine. The light was too white.
He lay still, while his gaze slowly drifted across the ceiling, the walls, the IV stand beside him. Everything was unfamiliar.
He didn't remember how he had ended up here.
At the edge of the bed, face pressed into the mattress, a woman slept. Her hair was disheveled, her fingers clenched, as if she were holding on to something even in her sleep.
The boy stirred.
The woman jerked awake, lifted her head — and her eyes immediately filled with tears.
"Arthur!! Oh, I'm so glad… God, I'm so glad you woke up!"
He stared at her for a few seconds, as if trying to remember.
Then his lips trembled.
"Mom… where were you?.."
His voice broke.
"Where were you when I called for you?.."
She froze.
There was no anger in his question — only fear and loneliness, too grown-up for a six-year-old child.
Her fingers shook.
She couldn't find the words.
She just held him.
Tightly. Too tightly.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Arthur…"
He began to cry. Quietly at first, then louder. His tiny fingers clutched her clothes, as if afraid she would disappear again.
The door opened.
"Hello, Arthur," said a doctor calmly, as if unaware of the tears. "How are you feeling?"
The boy didn't answer immediately. He looked at his mother — then nodded.
"My head… feels strange…"
The doctor examined the bandages.
"That's normal. In a couple of months, everything will be back to how it was."
He spoke with confidence.
Too much confidence.
But "how it was" never returned.
At first, it was barely noticeable.
Arthur laughed — but not fully. He got angry — but out of habit. He felt joy — but inside there was emptiness.
Over time, the emptiness became more obvious.
The world lost its colors.
Toys bored him faster. Friends seemed… dull. Even his own parents — like characters he was supposed to love, but couldn't feel it genuinely.
Doctors found no cause.
"It might pass," they said.
It didn't.
"Spend more time with him."
They did.
And only beside them did he sometimes feel faint echoes of emotion — like a distant echo.
But it wasn't enough.
At eighteen, he decided to test the boundaries.
Not out of curiosity.
Out of necessity.
He wanted to feel something.
And he did.
Not love. Not warmth.
Control.
Dominance.
A brief, sharp flash that pierced the emptiness for a moment.
That was enough to understand:
emotions could be replaced.
He began to collect.
At first — things. Rare, expensive, unusual things.
Then — increasingly complex.
Minerals. Animals. Objects accessible to only a few.
When the law got in the way, he created conditions in which the law no longer mattered.
By twenty-five, he was famous.
Wealthy.
Influential.
But not alive.
One day he realized:
even rarity is just another form of ordinary.
Then he found a new source.
Films. Games. Anime.
There was what didn't exist here — the impossible.
Powers. Worlds. Creatures.
A sense of scale.
He watched — and envied.
Truly, for the first time.
Envy became his driving force.
He invested in technology, research, development.
He searched for a way to step beyond reality.
A portal.
Another world.
Anything that would break the rules.
But reality did not bend.
It remained the same.
Cold.
Limited.
Time passed.
His body aged.
And inside, the emptiness remained.
He never knew love.
Never knew attachment.
He never built a family — because he saw no purpose in a connection he could not feel.
In the end, he lay alone.
The room was silent.
Almost the same as the day he had woken up as a child.
Only now he understood everything.
Half of his fortune he gave to relatives. The rest he sold and donated to orphanages.
Not out of kindness.
Rather… out of logic.
He no longer needed it.
No one came.
And he was not surprised.
He had made sure no one would want to come.
Right before his death, a thought came to him.
Simple.
Clear.
Almost calm.
Life is a ball.
Everyone wears masks to be accepted, to feel, to belong.
And he…
He came without a mask.
And never learned to dance.