The year is 1889. Within England there is a certain town, in which there is a certain hospital. It is within this hospital a tragedy is about to unfold.


The old grandfather clock on the western wall of the small waiting room fills the quiet space with a familiar chime. A blonde-haired man stirs in his seat before affixing his eyes to the old piece that sprung to life at the arrival of midnight. He watches impatiently as the pendulum behind the glass panel swings out of sync with the ding-dong rhythm, wondering when the nerve-wracking wait will finally come to an end.

Before the clock could even finish progressing to 12:01, the double doors leading into the hall lined with operating rooms swings open. The blonde man immediately rises to his feet and looks at the doctor expectantly. He notices the long, white coat of the doctor now has noticeable splotches of blood strewn across it.

"If you're ready," the doctor begins, making sure to keep his eyes averted from the nervous blonde man "you may come see her now. The procedure was a success." The doctor recedes back into the hallway, not waiting for the man to respond. The doctor's words did little to ease the man's worries, for he held a grave expression while talking that did not bode well. Nevertheless, the blonde man soon follows him, after opting to leave his eccentric, checkered top hat on his seat in the waiting room.


Once inside the well-lit room, the blonde man hastens to the side of the hospital bed. Atop it lies a heaving woman, her eyes shut and her face slick with sweat.

"Sp-Speedwagon?" She calls out. The blonde man quickly wraps both his hand around her own.

"Yes, yes Erina. I'm right here." Erina smiles slightly as her breathing gradually balances out. Speedwagon worriedly looks up to the doctor who stands at the bedside opposite to him.

"No need to worry, Mr. Speedwagon." The doctor reassures him. "She's been slipping in and out of consciousness since about halfway through the procedure. She's completely stable and will be perfectly fine, she's just tired." The doctor looks knowingly at the nurse who stands at the foot of the bed. "She had quite the hefty task, after all."

Speedwagon lets his gaze drift to the nurse as well. A smile spreads across his face once he sees the little bundle she's cradling in her arms. Quiet murmurs and soft cries emanate from the swaddling baby as the nurse gently rocks and tries to calm it until the mother is in a state where she can do so herself.

"By Jove! Well, tell me! Is it a boy or a girl?" Speedwagon eagerly presses the doctor for an answer. The doctor's face is once again stricken by grief before responding.

"…a boy." Speedwagon's own giddiness is promptly nipped upon seeing the doctor's grave expression. "Mr. Speedwagon…" the doctor continues "could you come with me to the back?" The doctor gestures to the long, blue curtain that separates the half of the room with the sanitation station from the half where they delivered Erina's baby. "There's something we need to discuss."

"I suppose so." Speedwagon warily answers. After gently removing his hands from Erina's, Speedwagon follows the doctor around the edge of the curtain, noticing a similar, disheartened expression on the nurse's face as he passed.

Once around the curtain, the doctor continues to the sink and waits next to it patiently. Speedwagon traces the doctor's steps slowly, feeling a sense of dread well up inside him with every footfall. Eventually, Speedwagon stands by the doctor's side, in front of the sink. When he looks down, what he sees within the metallic washbasin horrifies him.

A baby, still covered in the blood from its birthing, lies motionless atop a towel. Speedwagon turns on his heel and yanks the doctor up by his collar into the air.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Speedwagon spits out in a harsh whisper, not wanting to alarm Erina.

"P-Please, Mr. Speedwagon! I did nothing to harm this baby! He came out a stillborn!" Speedwagon glares up at the doctor unsurely, but eventually releases his grip, letting the doctor fall back to his wobbly legs. After a prolonged silence, during which the doctor regained his bearings, Speedwagon presses him further.

"I presume he's also Erina's?" The doctor nods.

"Yes, he was delivered shortly after the one you saw earlier." Speedwagon sighs grievously, feeling his heart break.

"To think…" he mutters "that she was heavy with not one, but two of his children…" The thought that his best friend's son would die before even breathing his first breath made Speedwagon shed a tear.

"It's the most bizarre thing." The doctor replies. "I say he was stillborn, but he in fact was flush with life, up until he emerged from his mother. The boy is almost twice the size of the other lad and by all means appeared healthier, so it makes no sense…"

The doctor notices Speedwagon has once again donned a doubtful, hostile expression and he stammers to clarify. "S-Sir, let me assure you- this is the best hospital money can buy, if there was a chance that he could've lived then he would surely be wailing like a canary as we speak." The doctor looks down at the baby. "But it's as if… as soon as he was born, he gave up." Speedwagon tears his gaze away from the display, not able to stomach it any longer.

"Why is it you pulled me back here?" He demanded.

"I thought the news would be better coming from her trusted friend than some doctor she barely knows." The doctor answers. Speedwagon shakes his head violently, rejecting the idea.

After all Erina's been through, after becoming a widow mere weeks after her wedding, Speedwagon knew she couldn't find out that the son of her beloved didn't survive childbirth. She would think it's her fault! Speedwagon thought. That she wasn't strong enough! Her heart can't handle anymore tragedy!

"I understand how you feel," the doctor continues "but would you rather she hear it from me than you?" Speedwagon shakes his head once more.

"I don't want the news to befall her ears at all!" The doctor sighs.

"Yes, I'm sure, but unfortunately that's not an option. Living or not, the child is still hers. She must know so that she can plan his funerary rights. The poor lad is yet to even be named by her!" The doctor begins to walk towards the edge of the curtain, apparently deciding on his own that it was up to him to tell her. Speedwagon grits his teeth and clenches his fist, believing fully in his heart that he couldn't let Erina know of this. He reaches out and grabs the doctor's sleeve before he can exit the curtain.

"I…" Speedwagon begins "…I have money. Whatever your price may be… to cover this up. Believe me when I say that she won't survive hearing about this baby boy." The doctor stares long and hard at Speedwagon, whose cheek had stained with a streak from his tears. Eventually, the doctor submits and heeds Speedwagon's wish; moreso because of his resolve than the promise of money.

"It will be for the best if we rid ourselves of him now, then." The doctor states simply.

"What do you mean?" Speedwagon inquires. The doctor doesn't respond, but instead fixes his gaze on the wall next to the sink. Speedwagon eventually turns to look with the doctor and his eyes land on what the doctor must be referring to. A trash chute that goes down to the waste bin outside.

Speedwagon opens his mouth to protest but stops himself. Considering this is what he wanted, he feels he has no right to be specific about how the deed is conducted.

Speedwagon doesn't say anything to the doctor. He doesn't say yes, he doesn't say no. He doesn't nod nor does he shake his head. Speedwagon simply releases his hold of the doctor's sleeve before walking past him and towards the curtain.

As Speedwagon walks away, he hears the doctor's own footsteps as he approaches the sink. He hears cloth briefly brush against the metal of the sink as the baby is lifted up. He hears the footsteps of the doctor continue.

Speedwagon grabs and pulls back the edge of the curtain to enter the half of the room that Erina rested in. Once I exit this curtain, Speedwagon silently declares, the young boy will no longer exist. Not to me, nor to Erina, nor to anyone. Before Speedwagon can take his first step into the other side, he hears a bang. The bang of an object colliding into the side of the chute as it fell. Following this bang is another one. And another one. Each sounding more muffled and further down than the last.

With each sound from the object tumbling down the chute, Speedwagon's heart sunk deeper. Jonathan… Speedwagon silently called. Forgive me.


The year is 1889. Within England there is a certain town, in which there is a certain hospital, by which there is a certain alley. It is within this alleyway a tragedy unfolded.


The alley remains still and silent, with a soft illumination being cast into it by the lights of the street it's connected to. A distant banging noise resounds in the alley, stirring awake a cat who'd been asleep on a carboard box. The noise repeats itself several times, growing louder and closer as it falls. Eventually, an object wrapped loosely in cloth falls in the trash bin atop the bags of waste and garbage.

The cat springs up and hisses at the foreign object before jumping from its perch and bounding down and out the alley. Once the cat made its exit, the alley returned to being still and silent, just as it was before. It almost seems as though nothing is amiss. As though nothing really changed.

But something did change. An innocent child remained lifeless amongst waste and filth. In a position he didn't deserve. The blood that coursed through his veins was too noble, too pure to end this way.

It's when this injustice is recognized that a single thought runs through the baby.

Just breathe.

The chest of the babe softly thumps. After a brief delay, it does so again. Only one short delay more, and the thump continues, but now as a steady rhythm. A soft, weak cough briefly emanates from the cloth bundle.

The cough stops. The thumping in the chest ceases as well.

A loud, powerful crying replaces the pitiful coughing. A sharp heartbeat echoes in the boy's chest cavity.

"WAHHHH! WAAAAHHHHH!" Not only the alley, but the street it connects to is filled with the loud pleas from the newly-abandoned child. Whether it was a miracle, extreme luck, the aligning of the stars, or anything in between, the baby lived once more.

It doesn't take long for someone to acknowledge the ear raking cries coming from the alley. The acknowledgment arrives in the form of a middle-aged man, on his way home from getting some supplies.

The man hurries down the alley to the source of the crying, dropping his bags as he went. He needn't search for long before finding the baby, wrapped in his towel, in the top of the waste receptacle.

"H-Hello there, little fella." The man softly states while carefully lifting the boy up in his arms. "Are you hurt? Where's your mommy at?" The child continues to wail, albeit slightly softer than before. The man knew it was a silly question to ask. There's only one reason a living baby would be in a trash can.

The man debates for a moment on what to do, not sure if he could take in the child himself. While wondering what to do, the baby's fidgeting makes the corner of the towel concealing the left shoulder slide off.

The man glances at the base of the baby's neck, where it connects to the left shoulder, and notices a splotch. He at first assumes it to be another bloodstain from birth, but upon looking a bit closer, the man realizes the splotch is in the acute shape of a star.

"We~ell, what do we have here? That's an interesting little birthmark you have there, fella. Looks exactly like a star!" The baby's crying all but stops after the man's comment. Once he ceases his crying, the baby's eyes open wide and stare up at the man who pulled him from the garbage. The man feels moved by the sparkling, purple eyes the boy has.

After a few more moments of staring inquisitively at the unique child, the man sighs in defeat. "Dawww, fine! I guess I'll take you in. For the time being, at least." The man wraps the baby a bit more securely and snugly in the towel before making his way out of the alley. He steps out and onto the sidewalk of the street, completely forgetting about the tools and materials he left behind. "So, tell me little guy, do you believe in fate?"


17 years later, in this same exact town, there's a certain young man running late to his graduation ceremony…

"BOY! You aren't going to make it if you don't leave now!" An old man sitting at the kitchen table and reading the newspaper shouts out in a gruff voice.

"I know! I know!" Responds another, younger voice from down the hall. "I'm leaving now!" The young man continues as he hops out of the hallway and into the kitchen, pulling on his other shoe as he enters.

"Good grief, son. If you're going to wait till the last minute to leave, at least tell me ahead of time so I don't bother cooking you breakfast!" The old man scolds while gesturing to the plate of eggs and sausage at the seat across from him.

"Sorry dad!" The young man exclaims before planting a goodbye kiss on top of his father's bald head. "Just wrap it for me and I'll eat it when I get back." After saying goodbye, he walks past the plate of food, picking up the glass of orange juice and downing it in one chug before slamming it back on the table. The father sighs at his son's antics, deciding not to chastise him any further in the hopes that it'll hasten the time in which he leaves. "Alright, I'm off!"

He quickly steps to the door leading out of the house and reaches for the handle.

"One more thing!" The father barks. The son stops and groans while turning to face his father, expecting to be hit with more criticisms. Instead he just sees his old man smiling at him from behind his newspaper. "I'm real proud of you, Johen." Johen returns the smile and nods.

"Yeah. Thank you, dad."