The knocking came again.
It wasn't loud or impatient. Whoever stood outside seemed willing to wait, as though they were afraid of disturbing the person inside.
I looked at the apartment door for a moment before glancing at the clock hanging above the kitchen.
Six fifteen in the evening.
By this time, most people would already be home from work.
"Cub."
The little black cat appeared beside me, lazily stretching before jumping onto the dining table.
"What?"
"...You can come out now?"
Cub tilted its head.
[I can manifest myself when no one else is present.]
"So only I can see you?"
[Correct.]
I nodded absentmindedly.
Somehow, having another living thing inside the apartment made the room feel less empty.
The thought made me pause.
It wasn't my feeling.
It was Max's.
This apartment had never felt lonely because it was small.
It felt lonely because there had only ever been one person living in it.
The knock came once more.
"Max?"
The young woman's voice remained gentle.
"I made too much porridge."
"I thought... maybe you haven't eaten yet."
I couldn't help smiling.
There were people like that in every world.
People who extended kindness without expecting anything in return.
I reached for the doorknob.
The moment I opened the door, a young woman standing in the hallway immediately let out a relieved sigh.
"Oh, thank goodness."
She looked to be in her early twenties, wearing a loose beige cardigan over a pair of jeans. Her chestnut hair had been tied into a low ponytail, though several strands had escaped and framed her face. She held a thermal lunch container in one hand while the other clutched the strap of a canvas bag hanging from her shoulder.
For a brief second, her eyes scanned my face.
The fading bruises.
The bandages.
The exhausted expression I probably hadn't hidden very well.
Her brows knitted together.
"...You really look awful."
I laughed quietly.
"I'll take that as concern."
"It is concern."
She didn't even try denying it.
"You scared everyone."
Everyone?
Perhaps noticing my confusion, she sighed.
"The landlord found you unconscious three nights ago."
"I heard you were rushed to the emergency room."
"You disappeared for almost four days."
She looked as though she wanted to scold me but eventually gave up.
"...I thought something terrible had happened."
Something terrible had happened.
Max had died.
I simply smiled instead.
"I'm sorry for making you worry."
She blinked.
Then narrowed her eyes.
"...You're different."
There it was again.
Not the first time someone had noticed.
Not surprising either.
No matter how many memories I inherited, I was still Lin Mingyue.
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't know."
She frowned thoughtfully.
"You've always been polite."
"But today..."
She hesitated.
"...You seem calmer."
"I almost died."
"I suppose that changes people."
"It does."
She accepted the answer without pressing further.
Instead, she held out the lunch container.
"Here."
"I made chicken porridge."
"My grandmother always said sick people should eat something warm."
I accepted it with both hands.
The container was still warm.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
She smiled, though it carried a trace of embarrassment.
"I actually made too much."
I glanced at the container.
Judging by its weight...
She definitely hadn't made "too much."
People who wanted to help often came up with excuses.
If they admitted they had cooked specifically for someone else, the gesture somehow became embarrassing.
"I'm glad you did."
For some reason, those words made her ears turn slightly red.
"A-Anyway..."
She cleared her throat.
"If you need medicine, groceries, or someone to drive you to the hospital..."
"You can knock on my door."
She pointed toward the apartment directly across from mine.
"I'll probably be home after classes."
Classes...
The memories surfaced naturally.
Emily Carter.
Third-year nursing student.
Part-time barista.
Max's neighbor for almost a year.
They weren't particularly close.
At least, not in the way people usually described close friendships.
Sometimes they shared dinner.
Sometimes they studied together in the apartment lobby because the internet there was stronger.
On rainy days, Emily occasionally brought over soup because she claimed she had cooked too much.
Max always knew she was lying.
He simply never exposed her.
"Thank you," I said sincerely.
"I'll remember that."
She looked at me for a moment before smiling.
"There."
"That sounds more like you."
Before I could ask what she meant, she waved her hand.
"I should go."
"I still have a report to finish."
As she turned to leave, she suddenly stopped.
"Oh."
"I almost forgot."
She reached into her bag and handed me a small paper envelope.
"The hospital gave me your prescriptions."
"You forgot them."
I stared at the envelope in surprise.
"...You went to the hospital?"
She nodded as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"They called your emergency contact."
"My number was listed."
For a moment...
I couldn't remember breathing.
Emergency contact.
Not Ivan.
Not Claire.
Emily.
Seeing my expression, she hurriedly explained.
"Only because your family lives far away."
"You asked me months ago if I'd mind."
"I said yes."
Another memory quietly surfaced.
Max had apologized at least five times before asking her.
He had insisted it was only a precaution.
He didn't want to trouble his siblings over something minor.
Emily had laughed and told him neighbors should help each other.
Neither of them had imagined the precaution would actually be needed.
"...Thank you."
This time...
Those words came from the bottom of my heart.
Emily simply smiled.
"Get some rest."
"And don't skip dinner again."
She disappeared into the apartment across the hall before I could respond.
The hallway became quiet once more.
I slowly closed the door.
The apartment returned to its familiar silence.
Only this time...
It didn't feel quite as lonely.
I placed the lunch container on the dining table before opening the prescription envelope.
Painkillers.
Antibiotics.
Anti-inflammatory medication.
The doctor who treated Max had been thorough.
As I organized the medicine, something slipped from inside the envelope.
A folded receipt.
No.
Not a receipt.
An itemized hospital bill.
Across the bottom, someone had written in blue ink.
Paid in Full
There was no signature.
No name.
Only a payment timestamp.
I frowned.
"Cub."
[Yes, Host?]
"...Who paid this?"
Cub's ears twitched.
[Information unavailable.]
I looked back at the receipt.
The amount wasn't small.
Several thousand dollars.
Whoever had paid it hadn't even left a name behind.
Emily certainly couldn't afford it as a university student.
Which left only one possibility.
Someone from the Smith family had known.
The question was...
Who?
I stared at the hospital receipt for a long while before folding it back into the envelope.
The words Paid in Full remained vivid in my mind.
Whoever had settled the bill hadn't left a name behind.
It was possible that the hospital simply hadn't printed the payer's information, but somehow I didn't think that was the case.
Something about it felt deliberate.
As though the person who paid never intended for Max to know.
"..."
I slipped the envelope into the drawer beside the dining table and decided not to dwell on it any longer.
There were too many things I still didn't understand about this family.
If I tried piecing everything together based solely on Max's memories, I would only end up repeating the same mistake he had.
Memories were honest.
But they weren't always complete.
I had learned that lesson countless times during my years as a doctor.
Two patients could experience the exact same event and remember it in completely different ways.
The truth usually existed somewhere in between.
I walked over to the dining table and opened the thermal container Emily had brought.
Steam escaped immediately, carrying with it the comforting aroma of chicken and ginger.
The porridge had been cooked until the rice was soft enough to melt on the tongue. Small pieces of shredded chicken floated among slices of carrots and chopped spring onions.
Simple.
Homemade.
Warm.
I picked up the spoon and took a bite.
"..."
It tasted surprisingly familiar.
Not because I had eaten Emily's cooking before.
Because it reminded me of home.
Whenever I caught a fever as a child, my mother would prepare something similar. She always insisted warm porridge was easier on the stomach than medicine.
Back then, I had complained endlessly.
Now...
I wasn't sure if I would ever have the chance to eat her cooking again.
The thought settled quietly in my chest.
It wasn't painful.
Just... lonely.
"Host."
Cub appeared on the chair across from me, resting its tiny paws on the edge of the table.
"Can systems eat?"
[I have no digestive system.]
"So that's a no."
[Correct.]
I smiled faintly.
"What a shame."
Cub tilted its head.
"The porridge is good."
[I believe you.]
"You don't sound very convinced."
[I lack taste buds.]
"...Fair enough."
The apartment fell silent once more.
Outside, the sun had begun to set.
Golden light streamed through the windows, stretching across the wooden floor and bathing the room in a warm glow.
It was beautiful.
The kind of evening that made people want to go home.
I found myself wondering how many evenings Max had spent sitting at this exact table, eating alone while watching the sky slowly darken beyond the window.
Perhaps loneliness wasn't something dramatic.
Perhaps it was simply realizing there was no one waiting to ask how your day had gone.
I quietly finished the porridge before carrying the empty container to the sink.
The dishes hadn't piled up.
Only one bowl.
One spoon.
One pair of chopsticks.
Everything inside this apartment reminded me that Max had built a life meant for one person.
After washing the dishes, I wiped the counter dry out of habit.
My eyes wandered around the kitchen.
A small calendar hung on the refrigerator door.
Several dates had been circled in blue ink.
October 12
October 25
November 3
There were no notes beside them.
Only circles.
Curious, I walked closer.
"Cub."
[Yes, Host?]
"Do these dates mean anything?"
The little black cat glanced toward the calendar before answering.
[Memory synchronization incomplete.]
"You don't know either?"
[I possess general information about the world.]
"I do not possess every detail of the original owner's life.]
"..."
For some reason, I had started expecting Cub to know everything.
Apparently, that wasn't the case.
I reached for the calendar anyway.
Just as my fingers brushed against the paper, another memory surfaced.
Not like before.
This one was small.
More like a lingering feeling than a complete scene.
October 12.
Grandpa's birthday.
Max had circled it so he wouldn't forget to call.
October 25.
Grandma's medical checkup.
She always claimed she was perfectly healthy, but Max insisted on reminding her to attend every appointment.
November 3.
Claire's birthday.
I looked at the final date for a long time.
There were no hearts.
No stars.
No reminder written beside it.
He hadn't needed one.
He simply remembered.
Even after convincing himself his siblings had forgotten him...
He had never forgotten them.
I lowered my hand slowly.
"...You really were hopeless."
Not hopeless because he loved them.
Hopeless because he never stopped.
Even until the very end.
The room became quiet again.
Somewhere outside, children laughed as they ran down the sidewalk.
A bicycle bell rang.
Someone called another person's name from across the street.
Life moved forward as it always had.
Then...
My phone rang.
The sudden sound startled me.
The screen lit up almost immediately.
Grandpa
For several seconds, I simply stared at the name.
My thumb hovered over the answer button.
A memory surfaced.
Every Sunday.
Without fail.
Max called his grandparents.
No matter how busy he was.
No matter how exhausted he felt.
He never missed a week.
My chest tightened slightly.
This wasn't my grandfather.
But somewhere across the ocean...
There were two elderly people who had spent the last twenty years loving Max as though he were their own grandson.
And they had no idea...
That the boy waiting for their call had already died.
The phone continued to ring.
I closed my eyes briefly before pressing the answer button.
"...Grandpa."
For a moment...
Neither of us spoke.
Then an elderly man's familiar laughter echoed from the speaker.
"There's my grandson."
"I was beginning to think you had forgotten your old man."
My grip around the phone tightened.
"No."
"I could never forget you."
There was another short silence.
Then Grandpa laughed again.
"Good."
"Because your grandmother has been standing beside me for the past ten minutes, telling me to call you."
From somewhere farther away, an older woman's voice immediately protested.
"I did not!"
"You absolutely did."
"I merely reminded you!"
"You reminded me every thirty seconds."
I couldn't help smiling.
Without even seeing them...
I could picture the two of them perfectly.
And for the first time since arriving in this world...
The apartment didn't feel empty anymore.
I rested my elbow against the dining table, the warmth from the phone spreading into my palm.
Somehow, hearing their voices made the apartment feel alive.
The elderly couple continued bickering over something trivial before Grandma finally snatched the phone away.
"Don't listen to him," she huffed. "He's been exaggerating ever since he retired."
"I can still hear you," Grandpa complained in the background.
"Then hear me properly."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The sound surprised all three of us.
For a brief second, no one spoke.
Then Grandma sighed in relief.
"There it is."
"Hm?"
"That laugh."
"We haven't heard it in a while."
The smile on my lips slowly faded.
"I've been... busy."
"You always say that."
Her tone was gentle, but there was an unmistakable trace of concern hidden beneath it.
"You've been working at the bookstore, attending university, and studying until midnight."
"You call us every week, but lately you've sounded tired."
"You don't have to pretend everything is fine just because we're old."
I lowered my eyes.
Max had never been good at lying.
At least, not to the people who truly knew him.
"...I'm alright."
It was the safest answer I could give.
Grandma didn't expose the lie.
Instead, she changed the subject as naturally as flowing water.
"Have you been eating properly?"
"I just finished dinner."
"What did you eat?"
"Chicken porridge."
"Did you cook?"
"...No."
She chuckled knowingly.
"Emily?"
I blinked.
"You know about her?"
"Of course I do."
"You're always telling us about the nice girl across the hall."
"I..." I paused as Max's memories slowly surfaced. "...Do I?"
Grandpa's hearty laugh erupted from the other end.
"Your grandmother still remembers the first time you mentioned her."
"'There's a nursing student who keeps pretending she made too much food.'"
"'Grandma, do all nursing students adopt their neighbors?'"
Heat crept up my neck.
I couldn't even deny it.
Those were undeniably Max's words.
Grandma laughed softly.
"You've always been surrounded by kind people."
"I think that's because you're kind first."
I looked toward the thermal container still sitting on the table.
Perhaps she was right.
Kindness had a way of finding its way back to people.
Not always.
But often enough to make the world a little warmer.
Grandpa cleared his throat.
"By the way."
"Have you spoken to your brother recently?"
The apartment fell silent.
Even Cub stopped swishing its tail.
I looked toward the window where the last traces of sunset were disappearing beyond the neighboring buildings.
"...Not recently."
"I see."
Grandpa didn't sound surprised.
He only sighed.
"That stubborn boy."
I frowned slightly.
"You mean Ivan?"
"Who else?"
"He called me three days ago."
My heart skipped.
"He did?"
"He asked if your grandmother had mentioned anything unusual about you."
I slowly straightened in my chair.
"He... asked about me?"
Grandpa hummed.
"He sounded worried."
"He asked whether you'd been sleeping enough."
"He even wanted your apartment address again."
Grandma interrupted immediately.
"I told him we weren't giving it to him."
"Why not?"
"Because if he wants to see his little brother, he should ask his little brother himself."
Grandpa burst into laughter.
"Your grandmother scolded him for nearly ten minutes."
"I did not scold him."
"You absolutely did."
"I merely spoke firmly."
"..."
I couldn't say a word.
Inside my mind, the memories I had inherited collided with what I had just heard.
This wasn't part of Max's understanding.
As far as Max knew...
Ivan barely contacted anyone outside of work.
Yet according to Grandpa...
His older brother had called only three days ago.
Not to discuss the company.
Not to ask about business.
To ask about Max.
"...Host."
Cub's voice was unusually quiet.
[I believe...]
It hesitated.
[The original owner's memories may not contain everything.]
I already knew that.
But hearing evidence of it left me strangely unsettled.
Grandpa continued speaking, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside my head.
"Ivan's a good boy."
"He just..."
The old man searched for the right words.
"...He never learned how to talk after your parents passed away."
The laughter that had filled the room moments ago quietly disappeared.
"When your father died, Ivan was nineteen."
"He'd just started university."
"The day after the funeral, the board called him back."
"They wanted to know who would become the next CEO."
I listened silently.
"He wasn't ready."
"No nineteen-year-old would have been."
"But he never complained."
"He simply worked."
"Every day."
"Every night."
"He convinced himself that if he could keep the company standing..."
"...then he'd be protecting what your parents left behind."
Grandma spoke next.
"And Claire wasn't any different."
"She tried so hard to keep everyone smiling."
"Whenever she visited us, she'd always tell funny stories."
"But every time she thought we weren't looking..."
"...she'd cry."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
None of this existed in Max's memories.
Because no one had ever told him.
Or perhaps...
He had never asked.
Grandpa let out another sigh.
"The two of them made a mistake."
"They thought protecting you meant carrying everything themselves."
"And you..."
His voice softened.
"...You made the same mistake."
"You thought loving them meant never asking for anything."
No one spoke after that.
Not Grandpa.
Not Grandma.
Not even Cub.
I stared at the family photograph on the bookshelf.
Five smiling faces.
One moment frozen forever.
How strange.
Three people had spent years trying to protect each other.
Yet not one of them realized they were all quietly breaking apart.
"...Grandpa."
"Hm?"
"When was the last time..."
I swallowed before finishing the question.
"...the three of us had dinner together?"
The old man was silent for a long while.
When he finally answered...
His voice carried a sadness that felt older than time itself.
"I don't remember anymore."
Those five words echoed through the apartment.
Not because they were loud.
Because they were true.
A family shouldn't have to forget the last time they sat at the same table.
After another few minutes, Grandpa and Grandma began talking about ordinary things again.
They asked about university.
They reminded me to wear warmer clothes.
Grandma complained that Grandpa kept sneaking sweets despite the doctor's orders.
By the time the call ended, nearly an hour had passed.
"Take care of yourself," Grandma said softly.
"And if you're tired..."
"...come home."
The line disconnected.
I remained seated in silence.
The screen slowly dimmed before going black.
Home.
The word lingered in my thoughts.
Max's last wish had been to go home.
Until now, I had assumed he meant the Smith mansion.
But perhaps...
Home had never been a place.
Perhaps it had always been the people waiting for him.
Or the people he had never stopped waiting for.
I closed my eyes and let out a quiet breath.
"No wonder..."
I murmured.
"This mission found me."
As someone who had grown up surrounded by love, I knew something Max had never allowed himself to believe.
Sometimes...
The people who loved you most were also the ones who failed to say it.
And sometimes...
Silence could wound just as deeply as cruelty.