He grew up in an orphanage, surrounded by people and... spirits. The people he lived with were nothing more than walking trash — people who would kill themselves just to indulge in all kinds of sins they themselves claimed were abominable, everything one wouldn't expect from a religious orphanage, at least in theory.

As time went on, he began to notice malevolent entities around people. They weren't white spirits or anything like that — they were spirits that smiled as they watched people's souls wear down, with twisted and wicked grins. At first, he ignored them, but when his first love died due to a curse from one of those spirits, he could no longer look away.

No one believed him, they thought he was crazy and insane. The more he paid attention to those spirits, the more people around him died, and that consumed his soul with guilt and resentment. As a result, he began to isolate himself from the world.

Unable to take it anymore, he, on a busy city night, climbed a building, and from the top, jumped.

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by people calling the police and ambulance. They didn't seem to notice that he had gotten up. He tried to get their attention, but when he went to touch one of them, his hand simply went through — as if it was being sucked into a tiny black hole. Shocked and scared, he pulled his hand back with such force that it threw him backwards, landing right where his body lay. His face turned cold, but suddenly, he heard footsteps that seemed to cut through the other sounds of the crowd.

Looking up, he saw a man approaching. It seemed like no one else could see the white-haired man, with his hair slicked back, wearing a white turtleneck, black pants, and a black jacket draped over his shoulder. He had a noticeable horizontal scar across his neck.

The man took off the sunglasses he was wearing and looked at him with a smirk. His eyes seemed to shine brighter than the streetlight nearby or even the passing cars — it was like the sun in the middle of the night.

"Is this another one of those who wanted to die for attention?" the man said, running a hand across his chin as he examined him. "Kid, name's Axell, or you can call me Gilberto if you prefer. I'm going to guide you to the land of the dead."

He squatted down to look him in the eyes. With a smile, he gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Tough luck, huh? You could've gotten a better Charon to make your crossing. Got a coin on you?"

He opened and closed his hand, expecting the payment he asked for, his smile unwavering — it was as if there were dollar signs gleaming in his eyes.