the concept of「childhood」was entirely foreign to yahiro.

wherein other children would have ran under the sun until they had tired themselves out, the summer afternoons bathing their small bodies in sweat and sunlight, yahiro would have stayed indoors, in his old futon, together with his delicate mother, who no more deserved the wrath of an unforgiving life as her unfortunate son did.

the both of them lived frugally, but in the mercy of all that had robbed the family of anything remotely well, 「starvation」was just as unrecognizable to yahiro as 「childhood」

it is not the hollow life of an aristocrat, nor is it the passionate tale of an impoverished boy whose stubornness would bring him to greener pastures, but though it is neither, it strangely seems to be composed of a part of both.

there is no greater struggle than the agonies of being in the middle.