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MidReal Story
The Boy And The Crown
Scenario:閹割男孩的小學
Create my version of this story
Kazuhisa
He is a young boy attending the School for Castrated Boys. He is curious, anxious, and determined. Kazuhisa struggles with the fear of losing his manhood and faces the daunting prospect of surgery. Despite his parents' love and support, he worries about his future. He is fascinated by the idea of having children one day and grapples with the uncertainty of his identity. His journey is marked by fear, resilience, and hope.
Kazuhisa's Father
He is a dedicated father to Kazuhisa. He is loving, gentle, and understanding. He reassures Kazuhisa about his identity and supports him through his anxiety. The father cherishes his son's curiosity and cherishes the time they spend together. He explains the importance of the school in helping children grow up without the burden of emotions attached to parenthood. His gentle nature provides Kazuhisa with comfort and stability.
Kazuhisa's Mother
She is an attentive mother to Kazuhisa. She is nurturing, caring, and empathetic. She supports Kazuhisa's questions and helps him understand complex issues about growing up without surgery. Her presence provides Kazuhisa with emotional security and reassurance. She plays a key role in explaining the school's purpose and ensuring Kazuhisa feels loved and valued despite his fears. Her warmth anchors Kazuhisa during his turbulent thoughts.
When I was born, my mother ovulated.
My father was gentle and kind, as he always is.
He explained to me how babies are made, and I listened intently.
He told me that he and mother had loved each other very much when I was born, and that they still do.
I didn't understand what that meant, but I knew it was good, so I smiled.
My mother also explained to me how she had carried me inside her womb, and how she had been very happy to see me when I was born.
I didn't understand what a womb was, but I knew it was something good, so I smiled again.
After they finished explaining, I asked them if they loved me just as much as they did each other.
They looked at each other and then back at me.
"Yes," they said in unison.
"We love you just as much."
I smiled once more.
I was happy to hear that.
I didn't understand why they were smiling, too, because they already told me that they loved me just as much as they did each other.
I sit at our kitchen table, watching my parents exchange those knowing glances that adults often share.
The afternoon sun streams through the window, casting shadows on their faces as they try to contain their amusement.
My mother's shoulders shake slightly with suppressed laughter, while my father clears his throat repeatedly.
Their reaction puzzles me - I thought I had asked a simple question about love.
I fidget with the hem of my shirt, feeling slightly embarrassed but mostly confused.
"Why are you laughing?" I ask, tilting my head in curiosity.
"It's just that you remind us so much of ourselves when we were your age," my mother replies, wiping a tear from her eye.
My father nods, adding, "And sometimes, love is about growing and learning together, just like we're all doing now."
Encouraged by their warm responses, I lean forward in my chair, chin propped on my hands.
"Tell me more," I say, eager to understand this complex world of love and relationships.
My father smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Well, your mother and I met at university," he begins.
"It was a rainy day, and we both sought shelter in the campus library."
My mother interrupts, correcting him with a playful nudge.
"It wasn't raining that day. It was cloudy."
Father chuckles, "Ah, yes. Cloudy. Anyway, we struck up a conversation about our shared interest in literature."
Mother adds, "And we discovered we were both studying to become writers."
Father continues, "Our first date was at a small ramen shop near campus. It was the best ramen I'd ever tasted."
I interject excitedly, "Is it the same ramen shop we go to on weekends?"
Father nods, his face lighting up with memories.
"Exactly, and that's why it's so special to us," he says, his voice filled with nostalgia.
Mother leans in, her eyes softening, "We wanted to share that part of our story with you, so you'd know how love can start in the simplest places."
I smile, feeling a new warmth in my chest, "I hope I find something like that someday."
I notice Mother's expression change as she glances toward the ceiling, a hint of something in her eyes.
Father reaches for her hand, giving a slight nod.
"There's something else we want to share," she says softly.
She stands up from the table, the chair scraping against the floor.
I follow her, curious about what else they have to say.
We make our way up the narrow stairs, and I watch as she pulls the cord for the light bulb in the attic.
The air is musty and filled with dust, making me sneeze.
She walks to a corner, where an old wooden chest sits.
Her fingers trace the intricate patterns on its brass latch.
I stand beside her, waiting for her next move.
She kneels down and opens the chest, revealing a pile of yellowed letters and photographs inside.
"These are letters your father and I wrote to each other before you were born," she explains, her voice tinged with emotion.
Father kneels beside her, picking up a photograph, "We wanted you to have them, so you could see the journey that brought us here."
I look at the letters, feeling their weight in history and love, "Can we read them together?"
While Mother and Father read their old letters aloud, I notice a leather-bound book peeking out from beneath the pile.
When they step away to make tea, I carefully slide it out.
The worn cover feels rough against my fingers.
Opening it reveals cramped handwriting I don't recognize.
The first page reads "Medical Records - Patient 7249."
Footsteps on the stairs make me quickly tuck it into my shirt.
At dinner, the diary's edge presses against my skin, and I struggle to focus on my food.
After dinner, I retreat to my room, pulling the book from beneath my shirt.
The leather binding feels cool against my sweaty palms.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, the window open to let in the night breeze.
As I flip through the pages, I see a figure walking up our driveway.
It's Alex, his familiar silhouette illuminated by the streetlights.
My heart races; I hadn't expected him today.
When Mom calls me downstairs, I quickly stuff the book under my pillow and rush down.
In the living room, Alex greets me with his usual smile, but his eyes narrow slightly as he notices my distraction.
Mom heads to the kitchen to prepare snacks for us.
Alex leans close, his voice barely above a whisper, "You were hiding something."
Torn between fear and the need to share my discovery, I nod slightly.
"Let's talk outside," I say, leading him to the porch where secrets feel safer.