Sixth floor (Moments before...):
A boy with inky black hair flowing down his shoulders, dark brown eyes, and a muscular body that bore the signs of long hours of toil and hardship sat slumped at his desk.
The room was unremarkable, containing only a bed, a small bathroom, and the desk and chair where he now sat, lost in thought.
His skin was tanned and rough, evidence of countless days spent laboring under the sun, and his hands were calloused, showing the wear of many tasks completed. Despite his youthful appearance, his eyes held a depth of experience and fatigue far beyond his years.
Hundreds of crumpled and torn pieces of paper were scattered across his bed, desk, and the floor.
His back faced this mess as he rested his head on his arms, his eyes cold and devoid of emotion. Yet, deep within them, an insurmountable sadness lingered.
Some words could be read from the crumpled and torn pieces of paper: