PROLOGUE

The sun was setting on the quiet streets of the city, casting a warm glow on the buildings and people passing by.

In a dark alleyway, not far from the butcher shop, four guys stood, arms crossed over their chests, watching a homeless man rummage through the garbage. They giggled and made rude jokes about him, their eyes full of anger and contempt.

"Look at this loser," said one of them, nudging his friend with his elbow. "He's so pathetic he can't even afford a decent meal.

The homeless man ignored their taunts, his eyes fixed on the scraps of meat and vegetables he'd managed to get out of the garbage can. He was used to taunts from people like them, but it still hurt.

Suddenly one of the guys standing there walked up to the homeless man and kicked him sharply in the back.

-Hey, pig, how much longer are you going to eat other people's garbage?

-He's just a worthless thief!

-Yes, a garbage thief- -One of them laughed.

-I think we ought to teach this pig some manners.

The hooligans surrounded the victim, blocking all escape routes. With anticipation, their faces were distorted with cruel merriment.

The boy understood what would happen next, he himself clenched, and his eyes darted from one bully to another - he was preparing for the inevitable.

The first blow to the stomach immediately knocked him off balance, then, showering as a hail of blows and insults, the others joined in beating the waif, who tried to resist, but to no avail - the hooligans outnumbered him. And soon he was lying on the ground, bloodied and bruised, while the children laughed and insulted him, kicking him again and again, until the defeated man finally fell silent.

Satisfied with the job they had done, they were about to leave when suddenly, for a second, something seemed to change in the just-beaten boy.

Pain, anger, despair-fog enveloped his mind. Fire erupted in his eyes and, clenching his fists, he lunged at his enemies.

Strike after strike, fighting with the last of his strength, he beat his enemies with a mad fury, until each of them was lying bloodied on the ground.

Breathing heavily with rage, he stood over his battered foes, still clenching his fists tightly. The blood of his attackers dripped from his knuckles. Looking down at his attackers, writhing in pain, he suddenly realized he'd crossed a line he'd never dared to cross before.

Before he knew it, an indignant crowd was gathering around him. Their eyes glowed with contempt and hatred for him, and slurs kept flying at him: "You filthy brute. How dare he?!", "That little bastard...", "We must deal with this scumbag!"

Suddenly, he noticed four men approaching him with obvious hostility. Without waiting, he ducked into the alley and immediately started running. Without delay, the four men rushed after him: "Don't let him get away !", "We can't leave this bastard unpunished !"

Keeping up, they kept chasing him, insulting and threatening to catch up with him. Alleyway after alleyway, he continued running, but with each step his body became heavier and heavier, his strength left his exhausted body more and more, his calves were burning, and each new breath burned his lungs more and more, running was unbearable, and tears came to his eyes, when suddenly... his legs buckled and he fell down.

He tried to get up but he failed, his weakened body did not listen to him. With difficulty he raised his head and saw his pursuers approaching. When they caught up with him, they swooped down on him like kites, with fierce fury. They beat him mercilessly, and their fury was fueled by a desire for justice.

Taking blow after blow, he remembered the days he'd spent with his father-now those fond memories literally tore at his heart, plunging deeper and deeper into the depths of despair and pain.

Finally, having decided that he had had enough, the perpetrators retreated, and the boy, closing his eyes, was left lying on the cold ground...