Upon seeing that his father didn't respond to his arrival, Adam shouted:

—I'm home, Dad! They gave me homework at school! They taught me many interesting things!

But his father remained hunched over, not looking at him, merely fixating on the corner of the wall, as if deliberately ignoring his presence. Adam continued shouting, even louder:

—There's a man in colorful robes cleaning the halls while singing! Did you know, Dad?

Still, his father didn't respond; he solely gazed at the corner, as if his life depended on it. No sounds, no movements, no actions, just breathing while staring at that corner. Adam started crying and shouted even louder:

—The eyeless old man told me I wasn't a real child and that you knew who I was! Is it true what the eyeless old man told me, Dad?

—You are... Adam... — his father mumbled in a very low and slow voice, as if he were utterly exhausted, and uttering those words only burdened him further — Today... I remembered...

Adam could barely hear him through his sobs, so the boy tried to stop crying to hear what his father had to say. But his father stopped mid-sentence and continued looking at the corner. When he remained silent for a few minutes, Adam asked:

—What did you remember, Dad?

—I remembered everything... — his father murmured, still staring at the corner, his voice devoid of emotion, as if he were wrestling with himself.

Adam noticed the continued silence and repeated the question, trying to connect with his father. He had gone to school just as his father had ordered him. The boy needed to talk to someone about everything that happened with the giant head. Adam needed someone to encourage him to keep going to school, despite his fear of becoming a book.

For all these reasons, Adam repeated the question several times. But his father wouldn't speak, just kept looking at the corner. Adam tried and tried to create a space for conversation with his father, but it never materialized. No matter how much the boy revealed his deepest fears, no matter how loudly he shouted the truth: that he no longer cared about the black robe, that he never wanted to go back to that school again. Still, his father remained silent, staring at the corner.

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Desperate to have his father more than ever, Adam decided to approach and grabbed his shoulder to ask again why he wasn't talking to him. After much insistence, Adam finally made his father speak, but with words he never imagined he would hear:

—Remembered... I remembered that you were the biggest mistake of my life, Adam. I was wrong to take care of you, boy.

Adam grabbed his father's shoulder again, trying to turn him around and see his eyes; the boy couldn't believe that these words came from his father. Not now, not when Adam needed his father the most to keep fighting for his dream of getting the black robe. In fact, it wasn't even the boy's dream: it was his father's dream, and seeing his father's smile when he wore that black robe was Adam's true dream.

But his father grew angrier when the boy tried to turn him around and delivered a slap that sent Adam falling to the ground. His father didn't look into his eyes but kept staring at the wall, with so much hatred and anger in his voice, he said:

—You are responsible for all my misery, Adam! I was a fool to take care of you all these years! Go away, I never want to see you again!

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I remember trying to look into my father's eyes one last time, but all I received was a slap across my face that split my lip. Feeling the sweet but bitter taste of blood in my mouth, I knew I had to leave.

Amidst loud cries, I ran through the hallways of Hexagon 10. Along the way, I encountered the old man dressed in rags, saying something I ignored. Fate played a whimsical hand with me that day. If I had followed the old man, my tragedy-filled story would be different today... I would be on the winning side of the war: victorious, smiling, and free from this pain that has never left my chest.

But at 10 years old, I couldn't think of all that. At 10 years old, one could only run from their fears and seek a refuge they deemed warm and safe. Although it turned out to be a damp and dark sanctuary.

With all my strength, I ran, ignoring everyone who crossed my path, oblivious to losing my school supplies, oblivious to losing the yellow book, oblivious to everything, running towards the eyeless old man.

Luckily or unluckily, though it may sound like a fallacy, bookshelves have more heart than librarians, and the eyeless old man cared for me like a father during the beautiful days of my youth (or at least that's what I'd like to say).