Long before the oceans came to fear the physician known as The Malefic Chirurgeon, before pirates entrusted their lives to the hands of a man whispered to possess impossible knowledge, there existed only a forgotten child whose greatest wish was painfully simple. He wanted someone to choose him.
Chei Mirae was born in South Korea into a family devoted to an isolated religious cult whose principal sanctuary had long been established somewhere deep within Japan. Not long after his birth, the congregation abandoned their homeland entirely and relocated across the sea, believing that the mountains surrounding their sacred temple concealed the resting place of an ancient divinity worthy of absolute devotion. Every family followed without question, including Chei's own. Within the cult, children were never regarded as blessings. Their births inspired neither celebration nor joy. Instead, they were evaluated, catalogued, and assigned predetermined roles long before they were capable of understanding language itself. Every child existed solely to serve a purpose that had already been chosen for them. Chei entered the world not as a beloved son, but as another name upon a ledger.
Love did not exist inside those walls. Praise was scarce. Mistakes were remembered. Silence was expected.
Despite growing up surrounded by hundreds of people, Chei rarely experienced genuine affection. Adults acknowledged him only when giving instructions, while children avoided unnecessary interaction out of fear of punishment. The temple itself was breathtaking in appearance, yet unbearably lifeless. Endless crimson corridors stretched between candlelit halls where priests chanted scriptures that none of the younger children truly understood. Every morning began with ritual. Every evening ended with obedience. Day after day, the same routine repeated until individuality itself became something forbidden. To Chei, however, that world felt ordinary. He had never known another.
Among the countless faces inhabiting the sanctuary, only one ever managed to brighten the dull monotony of his childhood. His cousin. Aoi. Although their families rarely allowed them to spend time together due to longstanding disputes between the two bloodlines, chance encounters occasionally brought them together. Sometimes they exchanged quiet greetings while sweeping temple corridors. Other times they simply sat beneath the shade of an old maple tree in complete silence, content merely to exist in one another's company. Those brief moments became Chei's happiest memories. He never realized they would also become his last.
One quiet morning, without warning or explanation, Chei was awakened before sunrise and escorted outside by several members of the congregation. Believing he was simply being assigned another task, he followed obediently without asking questions. Children in the cult were taught never to question adults. By the river waiting beyond the forest rested an old wooden crate. The adults lifted him inside. They closed the lid. Then they walked away.
Chei did not cry. Not immediately. He simply waited. Surely someone would return. Surely this was another lesson. Minutes became hours. The current eventually carried the crate away from the riverbank, and only then did the terrible realization slowly settle into the heart of a child far too young to understand abandonment. No one was coming back.