I first saw him when I was nine. He stood like a true hero—bravely defended himself against the one who was hurting him. I was so dreaming of a protector like that that I kept this image in my memory for a long time, and later—in my own little heart. It seemed like an ordinary childhood crush, but no—with the years, it turned into a strong, deep feeling.
After some time, fate brought us together again—but under completely different circumstances: I became a witness to a murder. Is it just coincidence? Or perhaps a test?
How can I live on now, if I know that the person I love is a MURDERER?