Autumn Whitman was completely baffled, suspecting that this child might have some intellectual issues. He peered through the crack in the door into the room, saw no adults, and asked, “Are you home alone?”

The little girl nodded.

Autumn Whitman asked again, “Why aren’t you at kindergarten?”

The little girl tilted her head and thought for a while, then finally spoke, asking very slowly, “What is kindergarten?”

“Kindergarten is a place where little kids like you play together, and there are teachers who take you to do acti—” Autumn Whitman stopped halfway through his explanation, guessing that the family’s financial situation might not be good, that they couldn’t afford to send the child to kindergarten, or maybe there was some other reason, so the child had to stay home alone.

No wonder this kid would peek out whenever she heard a noise outside—she must be really bored, right?

Or maybe she was hoping her family would come home soon, so whenever she heard footsteps, she’d open the door to take a look?

Autumn Whitman pondered for a moment and felt that was probably the case. Looking at this little girl, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pity, so he didn’t mention kindergarten again. He squatted down and showed her the sweet potato, smiling as he asked, “Do you want some? It’s sweet.”

The little girl looked at the sweet potato for a while, swallowed, clearly tempted, but still shook her head.

Autumn Whitman picked a small one and handed it to her, speaking gently, “I bought a lot. If you want one, just have it, it’s okay.”

The little girl didn’t take it, and said timidly, “The TV says you can’t eat things from strangers.”

“I see…” Autumn Whitman mused for a moment, then smiled, “My name is Autumn Whitman. What’s your name?”

The little girl obediently replied, “My name is Caroline Parker.”

“Karina-chan? That’s a lovely name.” Autumn Whitman handed the small sweet potato over again. “Now we know each other, so we’re not strangers anymore. You can eat it.”

Three-year-olds are easy to persuade and don’t pretend to be polite. Caroline Parker thought Autumn Whitman made sense, so she reached out and took the small sweet potato. She carefully peeled it, blew on it, and took a gentle bite.

Autumn Whitman didn’t help her. The stone-roasted sweet potatoes are cooked with fire underneath and clean stones on top, so the skin isn’t really dirty.

He just smiled and asked, “Is it good?”

“It’s good, it’s sweet.” Caroline Parker answered in her childish voice, then took another small bite, holding the sweet potato very carefully, as if she rarely got to eat snacks.

Autumn Whitman felt even more sorry for her, wanting to pat her little head, but was afraid of scaring her, so he didn’t dare. Instead, he pushed a medium-sized sweet potato through the door crack for her and said softly, “Then eat slowly at home, okay?”

“Okay!”

Caroline Parker was too young to understand politeness. She answered and closed the door. Probably her mother had given her strict instructions to always pay attention to the door, at most opening it a crack with the security chain on to peek outside, never going out easily, and absolutely not opening the door to strangers—earthquakes and fires are pretty common in Japan, so her mother probably didn’t dare to lock the door completely, in case something happened and her daughter couldn’t escape.

She must still worry a lot, but there’s probably no other way.

Autumn Whitman looked at the tightly closed door, shook his head, and carried the remaining sweet potatoes back to his own room. Even though he felt some sympathy and pity for Caroline Parker, there wasn’t much he could do to help in this kind of situation—at most, he could occasionally show a little kindness like this.

Maybe in a few years, when Caroline Parker goes to elementary school, things will be better. That’s compulsory education, not much of a burden, and the government even provides a meal, so she won’t have to be locked up at home all the time.

Thinking this, he finished all the sweet potatoes, feeling a warm comfort in his belly. Then sleepiness washed over him, and he lay down and fell asleep, even having a dream where he fought the “train monster” again.

This time, the slender, radiant girl didn’t come to help him. He was beaten back again and again, in constant danger, and started to regret not training himself harder. Meanwhile, the stinky tofu smell from the monster was so overwhelming he felt like he was going to die, until he was so disgusted that he forced himself awake.

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, took a few breaths, and suddenly realized something was wrong—the wind blowing in from the window really did carry a familiar rotten stench; it wasn’t just a trick of the dream.

He instantly tensed up, rolled over and grabbed his axe, and slowly approached the window, suspecting that the “train monster’s” accomplice had come for revenge. But before he reached the window, he suddenly heard a scream from the next room.

It was the voice of little Parker!

Chapter 11: Another Ethical Dilemma?

Autumn Whitman couldn’t figure out why the “train monster’s” accomplice hadn’t come to attack him, but had gone next door instead. But from what happened during the day, he knew that these monsters, formed by so-called “shadow demons” corruption, had no humanity and were extremely dangerous. The family next door could die at any moment.

He didn’t dare hesitate. The instant he heard the scream, he spun around and swung his axe at the apartment wall, then threw himself against it, smashing a big hole straight through. He went right through the wall—there was no time to go around and use the door; this was the fastest way.