It has been more than a week since I started talking to you, Mazzaroth. I have skipped two days, but I must say that I have been more consistent than I imagined.

However, the prospect of writing more or less every day for months to come is not appealing at all. I don't have a lot of things to say that have any substance to them – particularly, now that the loser is gone, I don't even have an exciting story about his future downfall. All I have are often just vague thoughts that appear for a few minutes and are quickly replaced by others.

I don't even have anything concrete to report, as I don't get much done. Telling you about my folders, which I intend to turn my full attention back to, would be tedious. In addition, I spend hours looking for books to read and then spend many more hours immersing myself in reading, as if the world did not exist or as if I had stopped being a part of it for a while.

The idea is not bad, because it would mean abandoning even this suffocating feeling that has decided to return from its holiday, that continues to devour every ounce of my motivation to do something actually useful for me, my future or those around me.

It would, though, mean not even taking any responsibility for my own actions, and that is not right, even though I am already doing that to some extent.

I do not intend to continue writing about the matter, even if I happen to mention it, but I do not want to find myself giving too many details about what happened and allow someone to find out my true identity.

The newspapers at that time did not mention my surname or my mere presence. I'm not even sure if they left the national walls, but I recall that Watari did everything he could to prevent anyone from publicly mentioning my existence. The month I spent together with him, in that flat, was not only out of obligation imposed by a third party, but also out of a duty he assumed towards me.

A duty that faded with the passage of time, but which was the driving force behind his actions in the beginning. Now, I have had definitive confirmation that he has forgotten all about it.

I told you about how I became friends with Rae and, consequently, with Ayla, but I have never told you anything in depth about Watari. On the 4th of September I wrote that you would come to know who he is, but I'm not sure I painted the full picture.

It may seem that I hate him, but it is more complicated than that.

Surely, you would have realised that he is the owner of the orphanage, but his way of doing things is not like the stereotypical one you would expect from a person in his position. As already mentioned, his persona is based on moralistic and social values.

Open parenthesis. This is a recent change in his career, as he is primarily an inventor, but I have never found it extremely relevant, which was confirmed by his attitude towards that little boy. Inventors have to be shrewd, but he wasn't. Parenthesis closed.

Because of his past and present, he is an extremely involved individual in any matter concerning the place, region and country he is in – in this case, Littleton, Winchester, Great Britain.

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that he has many contacts, of all types and calibres. For this reason, he rarely leaves the facility to personally venture out in search of child prodigies. There are other orphanages founded by him on the territory of the United Kingdom, but he does not administer them himself; hence, he has no reason to go there unless he actually needs to, when his presence is requested.

He leaves the Wammy's House for other reasons, concerning his past works, inventions, finance, and so on. I think it is safe to call him a 'man with a busy schedule'. That's why Roger is around.

In any case, he is the humanitarian, non-criminal version of Professor James Moriarty: the Napoleon of British orphanages.

Regarding the Wammy's House, it may seem strange that it only caters for one category of kids, but it is the only way to allow us to develop in the best possible way. You should realise that if we had not had such an institution, we would have found ourselves attending a public school that would not have encouraged us to use our best qualities.

I would not like to dwell too much on such a discourse, since you, Mazzaroth, are not supposed to be a critique of the world outside the Wammy's house, but a narrative of my life within it.

Returning to Watari, the first time I met him was in an atypical place, where people only turn to in case of emergency – to be vague – and he showed up with all the necessary documents to get me into his care, despite the fact that I had never seen him. I did not even know of his existence and what 'Wammy's House' could mean.

I didn't like him at all at first. I was mistrustful, as any seven-year-old should be towards a fifty-three-year-old man, who shows up with information about you that no one should know. What's more, it wasn't the people who worked there or some social service that called him. It was all on his own initiative, which made the circumstances even more suspicious.

I thought he worked for my parents; thus, following him meant returning to the situation I had escaped from. I could not allow that and, faced with that absurd request to go with him, I could not remain silent. The people who worked there trusted him, for a reason I now understand, but I knew nothing about his work. So, what was I supposed to do? Throw tantrums and insult him. I mean, describe the fact that he was old in a derogatory way.

Watari, to convince me to trust him, told me that he had been sent there by the only person who had ever expressed affection towards me. He did not tell me his real name, for obvious reasons, as this would have alerted the lady who had looked after me until his arrival. He used his nickname, which only people in his field knew, but I would have liked him to tell me, because I still don't know what it is.

Every time I try to approach Watari and ask him, the same image appears before my eyes and the same suffocating feeling sets in, which makes me change direction and head as far away from him as possible. For the exact same reason, I also avoided every single newspaper from that period, so that not even out of the corner of my eye could I discover his true identity.

I regret this a little, because if Watari has forgotten his real name, there is no way for me to get in touch with him. It is really hard to find information from that week, years later.

On the one hand, I think my behaviour towards him is disrespectful and wrong, because I do my best not to think too much about him, even though I look for him everywhere, but on the other hand, it is the only way not to end up being as irrational as he was.

I know the reason for that action of his, about why he stayed, but... Why did he reduce himself to that point and decide to invert the order of his priorities? He had a family to take care of, but he remained for me.

And this is how I repay him: I lock him in the wardrobe of my mind and try to get rid of the key.

In any case, the fact that Watari knew his nickname was not what prompted me to let him take me to this 'Wammy's House', because it seemed to mean that he was part of that circle. It helped, though, that he told me they were not close friends or in contact for a long time. This detail changed much of my reluctance to believe that the orphanage he spoke of really existed. He told me that, after a thorough search, he had found himself on the doorstep of the facility, because he thought it was the most suitable place for me, and Watari had let himself be convinced.

The lady had let him explain what the Wammy's House programme consisted of – without contradicting or questioning him further –, which, in addition to providing a home for orphans, was concerned with supplying them with the means to develop in an appropriate way.

I remained firm on my position not to go there, until he added that, within the facility, there was the possibility of attending classes, as if it were a real school.

That was what had convinced me. That was all I thought I wanted: to study in a classroom. Actually, it wasn't. I didn't want to find myself having to follow a pre-set syllabus from a teacher, who would probably explain to me in a totally incomprehensible way information that I didn't think was important.

It was the need to participate in something. Feeling part of a group, in a nutshell, since my situation had never allowed me to do so. Now, I even find myself skipping such hours within those four walls, which I idealised so much, and it is only because I have found people with whom I don't have to share a room in order to consider them friends.

And honestly, Roger is adept at explaining topics in a concise and coherent manner. It is his attitude that makes everything less pleasant.

However, as absurd as it may sound, I participate for the same reason that pushed me at the beginning, but it is for people with whom I would have no other way to interact or a valid reason to do so.

I didn't show up today, because I wasn't sure if Lex would be there; so, just in case, I took refuge in a different place than usual, avoiding him completely.

I must say that it is difficult not to be face to face with someone who shares the same square metres as you, but it will be complicated for him to find me hiding behind a trunk in the left corner of the garden.

It happened that he sat next to me in the shade of a tree, but this time it is different: it would be too much of an effort for him to climb down the steps and reach me here. A sacrifice that no rational person in his situation would make.

He could get help – this is true –, but it would be strange to ask his friends to help him get to me.

I can say that I am safe. I don't know exactly from what, since I haven't learned of his state of mind and his opinion of me, but I imagine he's slightly angry that I took him out of the game for a while.

We both are, but I only am because I want to save the others from ending up in the emergency room, as I don't know how to play and never will, even if I keep reading manuals on tactics and tips. I would never be able to put them into practice the way I want to, and I would end up panicking at the last minute and acting on impulse.

This is also why Rae's method does not suit me at all.

In addition, there is Set that

A crutch landed forcefully at my side, startling me so much that I ended up drawing a short diagonal line on the previously written text.

"You are disqualified, not grounded."

I looked up at him and saw his serious expression, slowly feeling the fear grow that I had ruined the beginning of a possible friendship. I knew why I had done it, but I couldn't answer the question of why it had been the first action that came to mind to implement; so, I couldn't justify myself and tell him that I hadn't done it out of malice.

The more hours passed, and I moved farther away from that incident, the more alternatives came into my mind that could have prevented that tragic event from happening. A process that also kept taking me back to my past, to that day when I had got out of an unfavourable situation for me and transferred it to someone else.

"I know you are angry—" I began with the intention of explaining my point of view.

"I'm livid." He immediately interrupted me, taking on a tone and expression that reflected those words.

I waited for him to continue, so that I could fully understand his mood and how best to defend myself.

"Because you knew you couldn't overcome the master and you attacked him, so that you could eliminate the competition."

I found myself hinting at a slight smile.

"I had to. You were too good for me and the idea of having to face you every match was terrifying."

"I understand." I nodded. "It is normal for disciples to feel this way in front of those they worship. However, you are the only one who performed an action that others would have thought unthinkable."

I understood that he was joking, but I did not know to what extent it was only irony. Perhaps, there was something else Lex was trying to communicate to me implicitly that I simply couldn't grasp.

"Audacity has always been a virtue of mine." I closed the journal, hanging the pen on the cover, and placed it by my side.

"Or your sentence." Lex retorted. "As a consequence, I declare officially, in the presence of all present, that you must help me throughout my convalescence. You will have to bring my books to class—"

"You never brought them." I reminded him.

"You didn't attend class yesterday and this morning, so how do you know that I didn't decide to use them?"

I was almost about to take seriously the possibility that he had started to carry cargo on him in that condition, since he had reached me all the way there, which was an action outside the bounds of rationality. Performing uncalculated actions seemed part of his personality.

"Your wish is my command." I said, finally.

"Well... Technically, it is a command... So, my command is your command."

I didn't know whether to tell him it was a figure of speech or not, but he was right after all.

"I'm not done, though. I order you… Not to avoid me." His tone suddenly softened. "Maybe?"

I didn't understand why he cared so much, since, putting myself in his shoes, I was not a close friend of his, with whom he had shared meaningful experiences and memories. I was just a child in his same orphanage and in his class, who looked his way from time to time and had made him temporarily disabled.

And therein lied the problem: I had put myself in his shoes, without making sure I could walk in the same way he did. I did not have the necessary knowledge to understand the way he acted. I did not know how those characteristics that I idolised in him had come to designate a large part of his personality and his behaviour towards others, even those whom he should have regarded as hostile or neutral.

Apparently, our theoretical knowledge about the world, different fields, and humans was not enough to dispel the blindness we had towards each other on a practical level.

"Aren't you tired of standing?" I asked him.

"Only now you ask?" He settled his crutches against the fence. "You are really inconsiderate towards those who are more limited even physically."

He leaned against my shoulder and slowly lowered himself, being careful not to put too much weight on his injured foot. When he got close enough to the ground, he let himself fall, bumping lightly against my side.

"Sorry." He said and I shook my head. "Now I understand why you came here. It's a really nice view. You can almost see that there is something beyond it." He pointed to the concrete column in front of us.

I had intended to reply with something funny, so as to remove the tension I kept feeling, but nothing came to me on the spot and, as the seconds between lines increased, it seemed less and less appropriate to talk. We stood in silence for several seconds, staring at the construction in front of us, while a slight breeze and dark clouds announced the arrival of torrential rain, which was about to fall upon Wammy's House.

I told myself to check the weather forecast for the next few days, so that I would know how long the ground would be muddy and I would not be able to take refuge there. I had no more intention of hiding from Lex; in fact, if he wanted to and was able to, he could even keep me company, but I needed a new place where I could write about Mazzaroth without having to remind myself of L all the time, as was the case in the library or the classroom.

I could go back to writing in those places when my mind would decide to bury those memories again, even if the guilt would have never left me. All I needed was sufficient means to make it bearable.

"I'm sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable situation." Said Lex, suddenly.

"Did you also hit your head when you fell to the ground?" I looked at him confused.

Lex chuckled, shifting his gaze to me.

"I'm the one who should be apologising to you." I added. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Or, arguably, you shouldn't have been yelled at to stop me, because you took it too literally!" He reiterated. "You really should try a combat-related activity, you know? Since football is too, shall we say, gentle for you."

"No." I replied coldly.

The suggestion was rather innocent and devoid of any malicious intent, but my brain decided to link it to the 4th of September and, therefore, immediately took on a negative connotation. Moreover, it did nothing to help the process aimed at the total elimination of L from my memory.

I thought, and hoped, that after his departure I would not have to give him a thought, but I had done nothing but remember him every hour of every day. I did not know why he had to torment me like that.

Perhaps, it was the fact that trying to forget him required knowing who he was, which brought me back to thinking about his person and caused an inner annoyance, which amplified my hatred for him and desire to forget him.

An endless cycle with no exit, in a nutshell.

I first needed to be able to achieve a neutral state of mind towards him, which, although I told myself it was easy, was not at all and that irritated me, always bringing me back to square one.

"How long will you have to sit on the bench?"

"Basically, I have to be in a cast for a month and a half and then, I have rehabilitation for four to six weeks and—"

"Will you be available for Youth Month?" I asked him the burning question.

"Oh, absolutely!" He exclaimed more than convinced. "I can't let Ayla win, even at the cost of spraining my ankle again, because... Did you know that the percentage of a possible dislocation increases after a first injury?"

"Don't tell Ayla." I told him, even though I had to consider him a rival.

He frowned and nodded slowly. "Well said... You honour your title as a master in observation."

"While you confirm your position." I replied and Lex chuckled and shook his head.