Darkness swallowed the memory.
For a long time, I remained standing in that endless black space without moving.
The silence around me was suffocating.
It wasn't because the memories had been painful.
It was because they had been painfully ordinary.
Max hadn't lived a miserable life.
He wasn't abused.
He wasn't hated.
He had loving grandparents, kind neighbors, classmates who respected him, and a part-time job he genuinely enjoyed.
Even his siblings...
I slowly closed my eyes.
No.
That wasn't right.
Those weren't my thoughts.
They were mine.
Not Max's.
To Max, Ivan and Claire had long since become people he couldn't understand.
He knew they were busy. He knew they had inherited the company while they were still grieving. He knew they carried responsibilities that most people their age couldn't even imagine.
He understood all of that.
He understood them so well that he never allowed himself to complain.
That was the cruelest part.
Understanding didn't make loneliness disappear.
It only made him feel guilty for being lonely in the first place.
Every time he wished his brother would come home for dinner, another voice inside him would whisper,
Ivan is working for this family.
Every time he wanted Claire to stay a little longer, he would remind himself that she was exhausted too.
Little by little, he convinced himself that his own feelings weren't important.
Until the day he died.
I finally understood why that last sentence lingered so strongly inside his memories.
"I guess... you really don't need me after all."
It hadn't come from resentment.
It came from someone who had spent years trying to be understanding until there was nothing left of himself.
"..."
My chest felt unusually heavy.
As a doctor, I had met countless patients carrying invisible wounds.
Some suffered from illness.
Others suffered from grief.
There were also those who smiled every day despite breaking apart inside.
Max belonged to the last group.
He never demanded anything.
Never blamed anyone.
Never made others feel guilty.
Instead, he quietly convinced himself that wanting love was selfish.
I let out a long breath.
"No wonder..."
The words escaped before I realized it.
"No wonder your soul couldn't move on."
The darkness around me rippled gently.
It was almost as though someone had heard me.
A familiar blue light drifted through the empty space before gathering a few steps away.
Cub appeared, sitting quietly with its tail wrapped around its paws.
Neither of us spoke.
For once, even the talkative system remained silent.
Eventually, I asked the question that had been lingering in my mind.
"These memories..."
"Are they complete?"
Cub shook its head.
[No.]
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
[The Host has only inherited the memories the original owner retained most strongly before death.]
"The strongest memories..."
[The memories tied to the original owner's greatest attachments and deepest regrets.]
I lowered my gaze.
That explained it.
The memories weren't a perfect record of Max's life.
They were fragments.
Pieces of a heart that had refused to let go.
Which also meant...
Everything I had seen was from Max's perspective.
Not necessarily the truth.
That realization settled quietly in the back of my mind.
As doctors, we were taught never to diagnose a patient after hearing only one side of the story.
People often remembered pain more clearly than happiness.
Loneliness had a way of stretching time until it seemed much larger than it truly was.
Still...
Even if some details were missing...
Max's loneliness had been real.
No amount of misunderstanding could erase that.
"Cub."
[Yes, Host?]
"Did Max have any final wish?"
The system looked at me for several seconds before answering.
Instead of speaking, a translucent blue panel unfolded before my eyes.
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
ORIGINAL OWNER'S WISH ╠══════════════════════════════════════╣
"...If I had another chance..."
"I want to go home." ╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
I stared at the words.
There were only six of them.
Yet they carried a weight that felt heavier than any mission.
Home.
Not money.
Not revenge.
Not power.
Home.
A place where he believed he no longer belonged.
"..."
Without thinking, I reached toward the panel.
The blue light dissolved beneath my fingertips.
"I'll do it."
Cub looked up.
"I'll take you home."
The words weren't meant for the system.
They were meant for the boy whose memories I had just witnessed.
"I can't give you your life back."
"I can't let you grow up again."
"I can't erase what happened."
"But..."
I looked toward the darkness where the memories had disappeared.
"I can make sure you don't leave this world believing you were never loved."
For the first time since we met, Cub's expression softened.
[The Host has accepted the original owner's lingering wish.]
Another notification appeared.
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
HIDDEN CONDITION UNLOCKED ╠══════════════════════════════════════╣
Original Owner's Wish Accepted.
Synchronization Rate: 25%
Current Compatibility: Excellent
Reward: Pending
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
I blinked.
"Synchronization rate?"
[The more the Host understands the original owner, the more naturally you will adapt to this world.]
"So that's what this is."
[Most Hosts view original owners as tools.]
"I don't."
[I know.]
That simple reply made me pause.
There was no praise in Cub's voice.
Only certainty.
Almost as though it had expected this answer from the beginning.
Before I could ask another question, the darkness around us began to crack.
Thin rays of sunlight seeped through the fractures one after another.
The System Space was disappearing.
[Memory synchronization has reached its limit.]
[The Host will now return.]
The world around me slowly dissolved.
The familiar apartment came back into view.
The old ceiling.
The bookshelf.
The tiny cactus resting quietly beside the window.
Everything was exactly where I had left it.
Except...
Something was different.
I walked toward the bookshelf almost unconsciously.
Among the neatly arranged forensic textbooks sat a single photo frame.
I could have sworn it hadn't been there before.
Or perhaps...
I simply hadn't noticed it.
I picked it up carefully.
Inside the frame was the same photograph I had seen in the memories.
Five people stood beneath blooming cherry blossoms.
Max was smiling brightly between his parents.
Behind them stood Ivan and Claire.
Ivan looked uncomfortable in front of the camera, his lips pressed into a straight line.
Claire laughed openly, one hand resting on her twin brother's shoulder while the other ruffled little Max's hair.
I studied the photograph for a long while.
Then my eyes drifted toward the back of the frame.
There was handwriting.
Small.
Neat.
Written in black ink.
Family isn't the house we live in.
It's the people we keep waiting for.
My fingers tightened around the frame.
I didn't know whether Max had written those words...
Or whether he had copied them from somewhere else.
Either way...
My heart ached.
Because even after everything...
He had still been waiting.
I stood there for a long time, the photo frame still resting in my hands.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft ticking of the wall clock. Outside, someone laughed as they walked past the building. A car horn echoed somewhere in the distance before fading into the afternoon.
Life went on.
It didn't matter whether someone was grieving, lonely, or gone. The world had always been like that.
I gently traced the edge of the photograph with my thumb before placing it back on the shelf exactly where I had found it.
There was no dust beneath it.
Which meant Max had picked it up often.
Perhaps whenever he missed them.
Or perhaps whenever he wanted to remind himself that there had once been a time when smiling together came naturally.
I let out a quiet breath and continued looking around the apartment.
The more I observed, the more I realized this place reflected its owner.
Everything had its own place.
Books were arranged according to subject.
Pens were sorted by color.
Even the shoes near the entrance were lined up neatly against the wall.
Max was the kind of person who believed that if he kept his surroundings organized, maybe his thoughts would become organized too.
Unfortunately, life wasn't a bookshelf.
It couldn't be fixed simply by putting everything back where it belonged.
"..."
My gaze fell upon the desk.
A stack of notebooks sat beside the forensic textbooks. They weren't class notes. Unlike the others, these were bound in dark blue covers with dates written neatly along the spine.
I pulled out the oldest one.
"Daily Journal."
The words were written in careful handwriting across the first page.
I hesitated.
Reading someone else's diary wasn't exactly polite.
Then again...
I wasn't here to satisfy my curiosity.
If I wanted to understand Max, I had to understand the life he had lived.
Slowly, I opened the first page.
April 5
Today was my first day at the bookstore.
Mr. Dawson looks scary until he smiles.
Then he just looks like Grandpa.
I think I'll like working here.
I couldn't help smiling.
The next entry was only two days later.
April 7
Burned breakfast.
Again.
The smoke alarm hates me.
"..."
I imagined the elegant young man from the memories standing in front of a frying pan while the smoke alarm screamed above his head.
The image was unexpectedly amusing.
Maybe Max wasn't as perfect as he appeared.
I turned another page.
May 16
Professor Miller praised my report today.
I wanted to tell someone.
Grandpa answered on the second ring.
Grandma cried because she said she'd always known I could do it.
I didn't call Ivan or Claire.
They're probably busy.
The smile on my face slowly disappeared.
That sentence appeared again.
They're probably busy.
It wasn't written with resentment.
It sounded more like a habit.
As though Max had repeated those words so many times that he no longer questioned them.
I continued reading.
June 2
Claire called today.
The conversation lasted four minutes.
She apologized three times.
I told her she didn't have to.
She asked if I was eating properly.
I lied.
I don't know why.
Maybe because if she knew I wasn't taking care of myself, she'd worry.
She's already busy enough.
Another page.
June 21
Ivan transferred money again.
I wish he'd stop doing that.
Every time I see the notification, I don't know whether to feel grateful or disappointed.
Maybe I'm being selfish.
My fingers paused on the paper.
There it was again.
Not anger.
Not blame.
Only guilt.
Max always turned the fault back onto himself.
If he felt lonely, he thought he was asking for too much.
If he felt disappointed, he thought he was being selfish.
Somewhere along the way, he had convinced himself that needing affection was an unreasonable request.
"...You idiot."
The words slipped out before I realized it.
Not because I looked down on him.
Quite the opposite.
As a doctor, I had met patients who ignored chest pain because they didn't want to inconvenience their families. Parents who skipped medication so their children could afford tuition. Elderly couples who lied about their health because they didn't want to become burdens.
Max was the same.
He had hidden his pain so well that eventually, even he stopped acknowledging it.
I closed the journal and reached for another.
This one was newer.
Only a few pages had been written.
The handwriting was exactly the same.
Neat.
Careful.
Almost painfully restrained.
September 3
The bookstore received a new shipment today.
Mr. Dawson let me borrow one of the novels before putting it on display.
He said I always return books without folding the corners.
He trusts me.
That made me happier than it probably should have.
I smiled faintly.
People often underestimated how much small acts of trust could mean.
Sometimes a stranger's kindness stayed with us longer than grand gestures from people we loved.
The next page...
Made my hands stop moving.
September 27
It's my birthday today.
Grandpa called before breakfast.
Grandma sang Happy Birthday.
She was off-key.
I laughed.
Claire sent a message tonight.
She said she'd take me out next week.
Ivan sent money again.
I know I should be grateful.
I really am.
But...
I wish he'd just call me once.
Even if it was only for a minute.
I think hearing "Happy Birthday" would've made me happier than all the money in the world.
I wonder if that makes me childish.
The room fell silent.
I stared at those words for what felt like several minutes.
No dramatic confession.
No tear stains.
No accusations.
Just a quiet wish written neatly across a page.
For reasons I couldn't explain...
That hurt even more.
"Cub."
The system appeared beside the desk.
[Yes, Host?]
"Did Ivan ever read these journals?"
[No.]
"I figured."
I gently closed the notebook.
People often believed love could be measured through sacrifices.
Money earned.
Hours worked.
Responsibilities carried.
But affection wasn't something that could be deposited into a bank account.
Sometimes...
People simply wanted to hear a familiar voice asking how their day had been.
I placed the journal back where I had found it.
As I turned away, something slipped from between its pages and fluttered onto the floor.
It was an envelope.
Cream-colored.
The paper had yellowed slightly around the edges.
Across the front, written in elegant handwriting, were three words.
To Big Brother.
It had never been opened.
No.
It had never been sent.
For reasons I couldn't understand, my heartbeat quickened.
I carefully unfolded the letter.
The paper was worn from being folded and unfolded many times, as though someone had started writing it over and over again before finally giving up.
Only a few lines filled the page.
Dear Big Brother,
I heard from Claire that you've been sleeping in your office again.
Grandpa said that's bad for your health.
Don't skip meals.
I know you're busy, but...
Maybe we can have dinner together when you're free.
It's been a while since the three of us ate at the same table.
I miss you.
From,
Max
I lowered the letter slowly.
There was no date.
No stamp.
No address.
Only words that had never reached the person they were written for.
"..."
How many times had Max wanted to send it?
How many times had he convinced himself not to bother Ivan because he was busy?
I carefully folded the letter back along the same creases.
This time...
My chest hurt more than my ribs.
Because somewhere in another part of this city, Ivan Smith probably believed his little brother was doing just fine.
He had no idea that a simple invitation to dinner had remained hidden inside a drawer, waiting for someone who never came.
I stood there with the letter in my hand long after the words had blurred before my eyes.
The apartment felt quieter than before.
It wasn't the kind of silence that came from living alone. It was the silence left behind by conversations that had never happened.
Carefully, I folded the letter along the same creases Max had made. The paper had softened over time, its edges worn from being unfolded and tucked away again and again. It was obvious he had read it countless times.
Every time he gathered the courage to send it...
Something must have stopped him.
I returned it to the envelope and placed it back inside the journal.
Not because I wanted to leave everything untouched.
But because those words belonged to Max.
At least for now.
As I slid the journal back onto the shelf, another notebook caught my eye. Unlike the others, this one wasn't labeled. Its cover was plain black, and a thin blue ribbon marked a page somewhere near the middle.
I opened it out of curiosity.
Inside weren't journal entries.
They were plans.
A monthly budget had been written neatly across the first few pages.
Rent.
Electricity.
Internet.
Groceries.
Transportation.
Books.
The numbers were written with almost obsessive precision. Every dollar had been accounted for.
I frowned.
Something didn't add up.
"Cub."
[Yes, Host?]
"How much money does Max have?"
A translucent panel appeared before me.
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
PERSONAL ACCOUNT ╠══════════════════════════════════════╣
Current Balance $312,486.75
Monthly Scholarship Received
Monthly Family Transfer Received
Part-time Salary Received
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
"..."
I blinked.
Then looked at the tiny apartment around me again.
The peeling wallpaper.
The second-hand furniture.
The refrigerator that looked older than I was.
None of it matched the number floating in front of me.
"He has over three hundred thousand dollars."
[Correct.]
"And he still buys discounted instant noodles."
[Correct.]
"He walks to university."
[Correct.]
"He works part-time."
[Correct.]
I stared at Cub.
"...Why?"
The system was silent for a moment.
[The Host already knows the answer.]
My eyes slowly drifted back toward the journals.
No...
I didn't know.
I only had a guess.
I opened the notebook again and continued reading.
Several pages later, I found another entry.
November 8
Grandpa called today.
He found out I was still working at the bookstore.
He sounded worried.
He asked if Ivan wasn't sending enough money.
I laughed so hard Grandpa thought I was crying.
Ivan sends too much, if anything.
Grandpa told me I don't have to prove anything.
Maybe he's right.
But if I keep relying on them...
Then all I'll ever be is their responsibility.
I don't want Ivan to look at me and see another burden.
I want him to see his little brother.
I slowly lowered the notebook.
There it was.
The answer.
Max hadn't refused the money because he was stubborn.
He hadn't lived frugally because he enjoyed suffering.
He simply wanted one thing.
To stand beside his siblings as family.
Not as someone they had to take care of.
He wanted Ivan to ask him to dinner because he missed him.
Not because he pitied him.
He wanted Claire to visit because she wanted to.
Not because she felt guilty.
"..."
My fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of the desk.
Some misunderstandings happened because people refused to communicate.
Others happened because everyone thought they understood each other.
This family...
Had fallen apart because they loved each other too quietly.
A soft vibration interrupted my thoughts.
Buzz.
I looked around before realizing it came from the desk drawer.
Opening it, I found a phone.
The wallpaper was the same photograph I had seen earlier.
Five smiling faces beneath cherry blossoms.
I unlocked the screen using the fingerprint.
Almost immediately, dozens of notifications appeared.
Most were advertisements.
University announcements.
Group chats.
Nothing unusual.
Then my eyes landed on two names.
Claire Smith
Ivan Smith
The latest message from Claire had been sent four days ago.
Max, don't forget to take your medicine.
I'll visit after work tomorrow.
There was no reply.
Not because Max ignored her.
Because tomorrow never came.
I opened Ivan's conversation.
It looked almost empty.
There were only a handful of messages.
Your tuition has been paid.
Winter is coming.
Buy thicker clothes.
Let me know if you need anything.
Every message was practical.
Short.
Straight to the point.
There wasn't a single emoji.
Not even a "How are you?"
I could almost picture Ivan typing them between meetings.
Wanting to say more.
Not knowing how.
I sighed quietly and locked the phone.
"Cub."
[Yes, Host?]
"I think I understand my first mission now."
[The Main Mission has not been unlocked.]
"I know."
I looked toward the window.
"But I don't think this world is about surviving."
The system remained silent.
"I think..."
I paused, searching for the right words.
"...it's about bringing a family back together."
Cub didn't answer.
It didn't need to.
A soft chime echoed inside my mind.
[Hidden Affinity Increased.]
I smiled faintly.
"So you agree."
Before Cub could respond, the apartment door suddenly rattled.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three slow knocks.
Not hurried.
Not impatient.
Just enough to let whoever was inside know someone had arrived.
I glanced at the clock.
Almost six in the evening.
"Cub."
[One lifeform detected.]
"Who is it?"
[No hostility detected.]
That wasn't an answer.
I walked toward the entrance anyway.
Halfway there, my eyes landed on the mirror hanging beside the door.
The bruises on my face were impossible to miss.
The bandage wrapped around my forearm peeked out beneath the sleeve of my shirt.
I barely looked like someone who should be answering visitors.
The knocking came again.
This time, accompanied by a familiar voice.
"Max?"
A young woman spoke gently from outside.
"I heard you came home from the hospital yesterday."
There was a brief pause before she continued.
"I made too much porridge."
"If you're awake... would you like some?"
I rested my hand on the doorknob.
Somewhere inside my mind, a blue notification quietly appeared.
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
IMPORTANT CHARACTER DETECTED ╠══════════════════════════════════════╣
Name: Emily Carter
Relationship: Neighbor
Status: Neutral
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
I looked at the panel, then back at the door.
For the first time since arriving in this world...
The story was finally about to begin.