Chapter 2 : Helplessness and Cowardice

Patrick lived in a rundown neighborhood. The buildings had been standing for decades, and it was a miracle they hadn''t been demolished yet.

He ran home through the heavy rain, getting soaked. In his hurry, he almost got drenched by the neighbor''s aunt dumping garbage from her balcony.

She scolded him, "Watch where you''re going!"

Patrick ignored her and quickly climbed the stairs.

When he got home, Amara was washing vegetables. She turned and saw Patrick, drenched, rushing to his room as if trying to avoid her.

"Why are you soaked again? Didn''t I give you an umbrella?"

She quickly rinsed her hands and grabbed a towel, heading to Patrick''s room. Without a word, she started drying his hair.

Patrick shook his head and reached for the towel. "Sis, I can do it myself."

"Stay still and squat down."

Patrick, not wanting to argue, squatted slightly so she could reach.

Amara roughly dried his hair, then said, "I''m not giving you an umbrella anymore. You never use it, just end up giving it away."

Patrick mumbled, "I didn''t give it away. I''ll get it back."

His voice trailed off, knowing that sometimes people forgot to return it.

Amara tossed the towel aside and went back to the kitchen. "Go change your clothes before you catch a cold."

When Patrick finished his bath and laundry, Amara had already prepared dinner and was waiting for him.

"Come eat," she called.

Patrick sat down at the small square table. He was wearing a white T-shirt, his skin naturally pale, and his black hair soft and loose. He looked quite fresh and clean as he silently ate his meal.

Amara glanced at his thin arms and legs, then placed a slice of carrot in his bowl. "Eat more. Look at how skinny you are."

Patrick always complied with his sister''s requests. As soon as she spoke, he immediately took a bite of rice, smiling in a somewhat ingratiating manner. "I promise I''ll start gaining weight from tomorrow."

"Just eat. Stop grinning like a hooligan."

They finished the meal quickly. Patrick and his sister competed to wash the dishes, and afterward, he climbed onto his bed, set up a small table, and started doing his homework. But he was so tired that he fell asleep on the table while writing.

The next morning, he woke up with a sore back and almost couldn''t stand up because his legs were trembling.

Amara packed his lunch into his backpack and hurried off to work, reminding Patrick several times to remember to lock the door.

Patrick responded with a few "okays" and then headed to school with his backpack.

Every morning, the school had a reading session, and Patrick was the designated reader chosen by the homeroom teacher.

He arrived at the classroom a bit late, so as soon as he got to his seat, he quickly took out his book and went to the podium.

Flipping to page fifty, Patrick tapped the blackboard eraser and said loudly, "Everyone, quiet down. Let''s start the morning reading. Turn to page fifty, ''The Memorial to the Throne''... ''Your servant humbly submits...''"

There was the sound of pages being turned and students reciting.

Some students took advantage of the reading time to copy homework. Patrick noticed but pretended not to see.

After a while, the school broadcast suddenly came on, and the students in the class quieted down excitedly.

Using such a beautiful morning for reading seemed like a waste; the school announcements were much more interesting.

"Yesterday afternoon, we received an anonymous report that someone was smoking in the Greenfield Bar restroom. After verification, we are issuing a severe warning to Bert Jones, Ronald Garcia, and Samuel Miller from Class 3, Grade 11."

There was a burst of chatter.

Patrick tapped the blackboard. "The morning reading isn''t over yet."

"Buzzkill," someone grumbled.

"So annoying."

"Reading again..."

Patrick ignored the disgruntled expressions and continued leading the reading. As he read, he suddenly paused, remembering the boy''s miserable appearance from yesterday afternoon, slumped on the ground.

The sorrow and despair in that expression were clearly imprinted in his heart.

Maybe it wasn''t cowardice.

But helplessness.