"Come on, children! Straighten your backs and aim for the heart!" Woodrow Academy for the Gifted was a training facility with an orphanage as a front, and Christopher Robinson had no choice but to accept this as his home. Madame Margot may have been lazy in her duties to care for the children but she was diligent in her teachings to make the best warriors. He had been an orderly here for as long as he could remember, having been evaluated as "Potential for Mastery: Minimum. Potential of Usage: below average." This simply meant he could wield weapons but he could never have his own. And this suited him just fine: he was better at caring for others than to inflict pain. Those who were potential masters, those were the unfortunate ones. In that moment, he dared not think about it, as he stole a bunch of cookies from the pantry and stuffed them in a bag. He should be done by now, he thought as he rushed through the maze of maintenance halls, his way of disappearing from Margot's glare.

Collapsed in a heap and clutching his childish keyblade was Mickey Walters, in dire need of rest and a snack. His messy dirty gold hair covered his angelic face but his ragged breathing was enough for Chris to slide over and let the sweet scent of puffs and frosting revive him. The young boy perked up and smiled, "Chocopuffs, you brought me chocopuffs!" "Yep, I heard a little someone needed a pick-me-up. Are you that someone?"  Christopher giggled at this display of eagerness and handed the treats over. Though Robinson was older by just a few years, he was already saving up his paltry paychecks for when he turned 18, so he could become an adult and legally adopt his friend and take him away from all this, from the Keyblade Wars, from fighting the Heartless and whatever Xehanort had done in distant worlds. Above all, he wanted to give Mickey the home he so deeply needed.

Letting the boy rest in his arms, Christopher whispered something in that wild mop of hair, "I will save you, Michael Walters. I don't know how, but I will." Mickey smiled at his friend and removed the chain from his blade, returning it to the default, identity-less form, "I want you to keep this then." Christopher reeled from this gesture, enough for Mickey to smile, "You're gonna give it back when you make your promise come true, you hear?" The item was so simple and yet so powerful: it was his admittance bracelet attached to a small metal link.