Su Bai had no intention of ever coming back.

  As he sat on the edge of the wn, he pulled out a small, well-worn diary. Its pages were filled with precise pns for the days ahead, written in his neat handwriting. His next steps were clear and straightforward.

  First, he would go to the hospital.

  Afterward, he’d check into a hotel for the night, giving himself time to breathe and reset. The day after, he’d leave for his hometown—a pce he hadn’t seen in years but still carried a bittersweet weight in his heart.

  This house, the cold and empty space he was leaving behind, wasn’t truly his. It had belonged to his grandmother—his beloved nainai. He whispered her name softly in his heart, a fleeting warmth repcing the cold bitterness for just a moment.

  His nainai had been the only one to care for him when his parents couldn’t be bothered. She had seen through their indifference, recognized how he was overlooked in favor of his younger brother. Maybe that’s why she left this house to him. Perhaps she had known he would need a safe pce to come back to, a home when no one else would offer one.

  This house wasn’t just a building to Su Bai; it was the st tangible connection to the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally—his grandmother, his *nainai.*

  When his parents first left him at her doorstep, Su Bai had been too young to understand what was happening. All he knew was that his mother and father had hugged his younger brother tightly, whispered kind words, and left with hurried promises of return.

  But they never came back for him.

  He had cried for days, confused and frightened, begging to go home, to see his parents. It wasn’t until his *nainai* sat him down, her warm, wrinkled hands cradling his tear-streaked face, that he began to understand he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Little Bai,” she had said softly, her voice steady and full of warmth. “You are home now. This is your home.”

  And slowly, it became true.

  She wasn’t like his parents, who were always too busy or preoccupied to notice him. His *nainai* had time for him. She had patience. She listened when he spoke and encouraged him when he hesitated. She cooked his favorite meals and told him bedtime stories about heroes and warriors, weaving them so vividly that they felt like a window into another world.

  Every morning, she would hold his hand as they walked to the market, her sharp eyes bargaining for the best vegetables and fish. Every evening, she would pull him into her p and hum an old lulby, her voice soft and full of love.

  It wasn’t a grand life. The house was small and humble, but it was warm. She made it warm.

  For five years, Su Bai flourished under her care. His ughter filled the house, echoing down its hallways. He learned to pnt flowers in the small backyard garden, kneeling in the dirt beside her as she showed him how to press seeds into the soil. He learned to make dumplings, his small hands clumsily folding the dough as she smiled patiently beside him.

  But most of all, he learned what it felt like to be truly loved.

  She was his rock, his constant. The person who cpped the loudest when he got good grades, who scolded him gently when he scraped his knees, who held him close whenever the world felt too big or too scary.

  But then, they took him away.

  His parents arrived one day, unannounced. They cimed it was time for Su Bai to “come home,” to rejoin his family. He didn’t want to go. He clung to his *nainai,* tears streaming down his face as he begged them to let him stay.

  “*Please,*” he had sobbed, “*please, don’t take me away. I want to stay with Nainai!*”

  His grandmother had fought for him, her voice firm as she argued with his parents. But in the end, she was just an old woman, and they were his legal guardians. There was nothing she could do.

  “Little Bai,” she said, kneeling down to his level, her voice trembling but her smile steady. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine. You’re so strong, my little warrior. And you’ll always have a home here with me. Always.”

  She hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Her hands lingered on his shoulders as if she could somehow hold onto him forever.

  But they took him anyway.

  The next time he saw her, she was frail, her face gaunt and her hands trembling. The vibrant, strong woman who had been his world was gone, repced by someone who looked as though the life had been drained out of her.

  She didn’t live much longer after that. The loneliness, the grief—it had been too much for her.

  Su Bai was too young to understand the full weight of it then, but now, as an adult, he could see it clearly. She had loved him so fiercely, so selflessly, but in the end, she had been left to face her final days alone.

  And for what? To bring him back to a family that didn’t want him? To a role he never asked for, that of a tool to be used when convenient?

  The guilt gnawed at him even now. If only he could go back, if only he could have stayed with her… But he couldn’t.

  Now, this house—the one she had left for him—was all that remained of her love. And yet, even this had been tainted by the world’s cruel narrative, by the ridiculous roles assigned to him in this farcical story.

  As Su Bai thought of her, his heart ached. But it also steeled his resolve.

  He wouldn’t let this world use him anymore. He wouldn’t let his child suffer the same loneliness he had endured.

  Now, as an adult, Su Bai understood. He hadn’t been brought back because they missed him or cared for him. He had simply been needed—like a pawn in a game. A tool.

  No one had cared about what his absence did to his grandmother. No one had stopped to think about whether she could live alone now that her grandson was gone. And no one had asked him if he wanted to leave.

  Her health had declined soon after he left, her loneliness silently gnawing away at her until it finally took her life.

  Su Bai’s chest tightened at the memory, a knot of guilt and sorrow forming in his throat. But he pushed it down. There was no time to dwell on things that couldn’t be undone.

  Beep! Beep!

  The sharp sound of a taxi horn pulled him back to the present. The cab pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting through the dim evening light.

  Su Bai took a deep breath and waved it down. The driver rolled down the window, giving him a brief gnce.

  When Su Bai opened his mouth to speak, his voice faltered. “H-Hospital,” he said, his words coming out stammered and uneven.

  The driver nodded, and Su Bai climbed into the backseat, gripping his bag tightly. He stared out the window as the car pulled away, the city lights blurring together into streaks of color.

  He frowned faintly, realizing how difficult it had become for him to communicate with others. His words felt clumsy, his voice foreign to his own ears. He shook his head slightly, brushing the thought away.

  It’s fine, he told himself. I don’t need to talk to anyone. They’re all NPCs in this ridiculous world anyway.

  And with that, Su Bai leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.