— Good luck, my son — said Jimin's mother as she placed both hands on the boy's face. — Your father would be very proud of you, just as I am. Don't be intimidated by anyone, don't get into trouble and obey your superiors.

— Thanks, Mom, but don't worry — he said, looking at the air of concern and fear that surrounded the woman. — I'll be part of the PeaceArmy medical team, the training isn't as heavy as that of the combatants.

— I know, I know. But a mother's worry comes at any time, even when you decide to cross the street — Jimin wrapped her in a long hug that filled him with energy, love and strength. Despite the fact that, since the age of 10, he had been constantly caring for his mother, who was in poor health, he had always drawn from her the motivation he needed to survive. The woman was his north, his guide and his purpose in life. He would do anything for her, even give up his own existence. 

— I love you, son. Never forget that — she said as he walked away.

— I love you too — Jimin stared at his mother and mobilized all his senses to imprint the scene in his mind. The short woman with long straight hair and dark eyes, wearing a simple white blouse and a knee-length gray silk skirt, was smiling so openly that she dispelled any doubts about her decision to join PeaceArmy. It was the only possible way to give her a better life. 

Jimin put his backpack on his back, full of clothes, toiletries, medical books and a few picture frames. That fall morning, the weather forced him to wear a dark purple sweatshirt and black pants that kept him warm. He had always felt colder than everyone else, so it was common for him to dress this way throughout the year. He opened the door and found Ana, the neighbor who looked after his mother when he wasn't there, and his two childhood friends, Marcos and Michelle, waiting for him with sad faces. Across the street, the black van that would take him to the barracks honked its horn.

— Go in peace, kid. I'll keep an eye on your mother for you — said the dark-skinned lady with curly hair tied up in a perfect bun and piercing eyes that seemed to read people's souls. Since her father's death, Ana has become the grandmother he never had. She helped with some of the housework, gave him excellent advice, monitored his mother's health and always made delicious coffee.

— Thank you so much, Ana — He hugged her and was enveloped by the scent of white roses, lilies of the field and lavender.

— Try to survive the army, Jimin. We don't want to bury any friends — Marcos approached, Michelle by his side, and they both wrapped him in a warm, long hug. The funereal atmosphere of the farewell was due to the minimum time of five years that the cadets were confined to the barracks, dedicating themselves exclusively to the organization.

Jimin had always been unsociable, liked his own company, kept to the shadows, avoided attracting attention, talked to anyone who came up to him and fought every day against the anxiety that haunted him. His personality traits were accentuated by the whispers he heard when he passed people, most of them commenting on his slanted eyes and how strange it was – he heard that word often – to see someone like him in the Cocoon.

The two friends were the only ones he had built a strong enough bond with to let loose, talk about personal matters in his life and even make a few jokes. They didn't treat him any differently and didn't care about his ancestry. They grew up together, went through good and bad situations and built an incredible friendship. As they walked away, Michelle's brown eyes held tears, a few trickling down her pale cheeks. Marcos, on the other hand, tried to disguise his crying expression by staring at the ground and hiding his face in the black cap he was wearing.

— Try not to die while tending the crops, okay? Or poison the vegetables — Jimin smiled and his friends joined in. — I'm not good at talking about feelings, but I'll miss you. Don't forget me.

— We won't — Michelle replied and they hugged again, remaining in that position for a few minutes.

Jimin said goodbye, crossed the street and before walking towards the van, he looked back to find his mother, Ana, Michelle and Marcos standing side by side outside the house with its salmon-red concrete walls, waving. The boy swallowed back tears as he realized that he would be leaving behind ties, memories and a safe space where he had sought comfort whenever he needed it. The humble home of two bedrooms and a simple living room with a dark fabric sofa had welcomed him since birth and had witnessed incredible and terrible moments in equal measure.

A bald, middle-aged man, wearing classic green army clothes, approached Jimin with a clipboard in his hands.

— Good morning, cadet. Name, age and identification code.

— Jimin Park, 21 years old, 138961 — he replied as he watched him confirm the data on the papers he was looking through.

— Welcome to PeaceArmy. Seat 05. You were the last one we picked up, so be prepared for a six-hour, non-stop journey. Water and cereal bars under the seat — the man recited the information robotically, led him to the van and opened the doors. 

Jimin snuck down the aisle of the vehicle and noticed that all the seats were occupied, except for one near the window at the back. In the seat next to it, connected to the empty one, there was a boy with blond hair, a big, crooked nose, blue eyes and a frown on his face. He approached, passed the boy and accidentally stepped on his foot while trying to reach the chair.

— Can't you see with those eyes? — said the cadet, furious, before Jimin had a chance to say anything, attracting the attention of the other people in the van.

— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to step on your toes. I'm sorry — he sat back in his seat and felt his cheeks flush. He'd already committed his first gaffe before he'd even arrived in the army.

— We really can't expect much from you — said the cadet.

— What?

— The army must be desperate for new recruits. Accepting people like that looks like a drop in the quality of the selection process.

There was the look. The same look that had accompanied him throughout his life, the disgust showing through people's irises, added to the signs of mockery in their facial expressions. The gesture that made him shy away from socializing and prefer to go unnoticed by the locals. As used to the situation as he was, he still felt a twinge of pain in his heart. Too