Growing up, Sora saw Ronin as more of a presence than a father. Ronin fed him, changed his diapers, bathed him, and kept him alive—but all of these actions were devoid of love. To Ronin, Sora was less a son and more a living testament to his own legacy. He was a narcissist, yet Sora knew no other reality.

Their interactions were never true exchanges; they were monologues spun by Ronin, who filled Sora’s mind with his twisted beliefs about the world and incessantly ranted about one overarching theme: hunger.

That was the first word Sora ever learned. It was more than a concept; it was a relentless force that shaped his existence. From the very beginning, he was taught hunger, fed hunger. In many ways, he had been starving his entire life, doomed to be forever searching for something that might finally satiate him.

Whether he might have ever had a real chance is up for debate. Maybe he was doomed from the start, born with poisoned blood. Even if two loving parents had raised him—could they have healed a heart that beat only because of a man too sick to be saved?

Ronin often spoke about the corruption of humanity, insisting that people were brainwashed to suppress their primal instincts. These ideas burrowed into Sora’s mind and grew as he did. To him, humanity became a distorted image—his father and anyone daring enough to challenge societal norms were the elite. As for everyone else? They were merely prey. Just opportunities to be seized.

The first person Sora ever encountered other than his father was a man on his knees, crying to a God he didn’t even know existed. In that moment, he was so vulnerable that Sora felt sorry for him. He seemed to sense the evil around him, but he simply wept instead of fleeing, surrendering to a helpless plea for mercy. It was a sight that only solidified Ronin's teachings and justified Sora’s understanding of humanity.