In 2004, Albert Foreskin stared at the clear blue sky after a bitter and difficult day during which he had taken his final exams, wondering:
"Am I really capable of doing it? Getting into Campiol University seems almost impossible, but it's my last hope, and I must hold on to it."
Albert was sitting in a large green park filled with colorful trees and flowers. He was lost in thought, as the admission results were going to be sent to his email the next night—results that could turn his life upside down, for better or for worse.
Albert returned to his small, cottage-like home. He lived alone; his parents had died when he was a child, which forced him to work in the dirtiest jobs since the age of nine just to earn enough to survive.
Getting into university was a matter of life or death for him—it was the only way to improve his life and make it more stable.
The next night, Albert came home late, his clothes extremely dirty after working the whole day as a cleaner for a small wage. He had been thinking about Campiol University the entire time. He took a shower first, then checked his email and found a message from the university:
"We regret to inform you that you have not been accepted to our university. Your scores in both the written and oral exams did not meet our requirements. Thank you for your understanding."
Albert was shocked. His mouth dropped open—he couldn't believe what he was reading. He whispered to himself, on the edge of tears:
"I can't go on like this. My last hope is gone. I can't endure this suffering any longer. So what's the solution?"
His eyes scanned the room until they stopped on a strong rope. A strange sparkle lit up in his eyes.
"It may be painful," he thought, "but it's not more painful than my life."
He grabbed the rope, tied it to the ceiling, and thought: "Finally, I'll put an end to my suffering."
Suddenly, countless thoughts rushed into his mind—visions, memories of pain that had followed him since childhood. He placed his neck in the noose hanging from the ceiling and began choking violently. His face turned dark red, almost like it was going to explode. A few seconds later, he saw the final flash of light and closed his eyes.
It was the suicide of Albert Foreskin.
Moments later, a few rays of sunlight shone into his eyes, and he opened them wide. Steam and machines surrounded him from all directions. He was shocked, confused, and unable to understand what was happening. He looked at his reflection in a puddle on the floor and trembled in fear.
"This isn't my body. What's going on?" he thought, filled with terror and confusion.
Suddenly, memories that weren't his began to form in his mind—memories of a mercenary who lived by raiding trade caravans and blackmailing people. The man's name was Lloyd Arnyth, known in his gang as "Cold Blood."