Good days and bad days will always pass.

The orphanage finally faced the most difficult winter it had ever experienced.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Othello hadn't used foul language for a long time to ensure that his work at the store was not affected, but now he was starting to use it again.

Stressed out, Othello's eyes were filled with blood, making his eyeballs red. The veins on his forehead were bulging and wouldn't go away, giving him the appearance of someone who hadn't slept well for days.

Of course, he couldn't attend to customers in this condition. Othello had already stopped working for several days.

Macbeth was young and addicted to drugs, with a weakened immune system. It was easy for him to catch a cold. His fierce fever exacerbated the complications of Demon's Curse, and his chin had prominent signs of deterioration. In excruciating pain and shocked, he was lying in Othello's bed, recuperating.

Merka wasn't doing any better either. Her remaining left eye would twitch occasionally, causing her pain.

"Where did the money go..." The angry voice gradually turned into a sob. Othello helplessly pulled his hair, slumping by his wardrobe.

There should have been layers upon layers of money hidden in the cracks of the wardrobe. Merka's money, and even Macbeth's surgery fee. Before Othello could count it, it had all disappeared without a trace.

The surgery for his jaw and his eye were not the same; they cost a terrifying amount.

Maybe it was stolen yesterday, or the day before. They saw the money just the day before, but now there was nothing left. Despite knowing that the children had stolen it to buy drugs, Othello couldn't find the culprit from the last incident, let alone this time.

But how did the thief know the money was here? And how did they steal it right under the watchful eyes of Romeo and Hamlet? Come to think of it, was there only one person responsible for the theft?

Othello, as if releasing his frustrations, gripped a handful of his own hair, inadvertently pulling out several strands. He realized that he was not equipped to ponder over these questions; his head was starting to ache.

Othello searched through his bedside table once again, hoping to find some spare change. Instead of finding coins, he found Macbeth's appointment slip.

"Macbeth can't hold on much longer, the doctor said the surgery must be done today." Having calmed down, Othello tidied his hair and took a few deep breaths before getting up from the floor.

Othello headed towards the dining room, thinking of a last resort.

Meanwhile, Romeo was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The watery soup reflected Romeo's increasingly haggard face.

The ring on his right hand, stirring the soup, sparkled along with the clear liquid in the radiant sunlight.

It brought back distant memories for Romeo.

Suddenly, the noise in the dining room interrupted Romeo's pleasant thoughts.

"Give me the badge, right now!"

"Why should I? Just because these children, who you don't even acknowledge when they're fighting, are here?"

"You... haven't sold anything yet, have you? Please, I'm begging you. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it and fulfill your wishes..."

In front of the children, Othello dragged Juliet by her arm, using both soft and hard tactics. He looked nothing like a guardian.

Initially, Othello thought that by acting like this in front of the children, maybe the child who stole the money would reconsider and return it. But now it was clear that Othello was simply delusional.

"This was meant for me to buy a relic... Isn't this for your own good? So that you won't have to risk stealing again." Seeing Othello like this, Juliet's tone softened without her intending to.

"We can deal with the relic later. Give me the badge, let's have the surgery first, okay? You wouldn't want to see that child..." Othello didn't finish his sentence.

Juliet's face displayed disbelief. She looked at the somber-faced children around her and instinctively protected the area where the badge was hidden on her chest.

"Give it to him, Juliet." Romeo leaned against the kitchen doorway, his voice gentle as honey, and it became the last straw that broke Juliet's will.

Juliet felt a spasm in her chest.

"Take it, take it!" Juliet took out the badge from her chest and handed it to Othello's palm.

"Thank you," Othello didn't say much, took the badge, "I'll go exchange it for money, and come to pick up Macbeth at the hospital in the afternoon."

Othello hurried away, carrying the hopes of a family.

Juliet, still immersed in the satisfaction of doing a good deed, would never have expected.

For the orphanage, the afternoon mentioned by Othello would never come.

--------------------------------------------------

What exactly are justice, kindness, gentleness, and kindness?

Is it right to stand on the side of the majority?

Since the day Merka gave advice to Macbeth, Merka's confusion and severe eye pain have worsened.

The people of Acadia are clearly so happy.

But the cursed ones are all so miserable.

If... I mean if.

The price of the people's happiness is sacrificing the happiness of a few individuals.

And the pain of everyone in the orphanage is actually endured for the people.

Should I still stand on the side of the people?

Even though the cursed ones are so pitiful...

"Go and open the door... go open the door, Merka." A child, seeing Merka lost in thought, whispered urgingly.

Knock knock knock, the sound of knocking on the door echoed in the empty dining room of the afternoon.

Somehow, everyone started to become more and more afraid of the sound of knocking on the door, more and more afraid to open the door for someone. The task of opening the door finally fell on Merka's shoulders after being passed around.

Merka never complained anyway.

Merka nodded at the speaking child.

Merka went to the entrance hall and opened the door. Standing at the door, basking in the sun, was the beautiful Joan Dark, like an ethereal beauty.

"Merka... I have something important to tell you." Joan's gentle smile, though somewhat pale, was still breathtaking.

Joan scratched her head regardless of her image, her eyes shimmering with profound helplessness, and said, "But there are so many things, I don't even know where to start..."

"How about showing me how little Macbeth is doing first?" Joan's figure, in Merka's eyes, shone like a deity.

Joan is truly worthy of the family that serves the gods.

She must be the deity sent to save us.