30 Years of Rest

August 16, 2026 — Yokio, Nipan

"He's awake! He's awake!"

The word was disorienting yet familiar.

An old man's eyes slowly fluttered open. The scent of the room was strange — sterile and new. He squeezed his eyes shut as the direct sunlight stung. A young woman stood beside him, speaking urgently into her phone. "Grandpa regained consciousness. Please, come as soon as possible."

He turned his head toward her. When he saw her face, his eyes widened. Her features reminded him of someone else — his own daughter. He pressed his elbow against the mattress to sit up, but the movement was too sudden. The IV tube tore free from his hand, and blood began backing up into the clear plastic line.

The girl turned, saw the blood, and froze. She dropped her phone and rushed to him, shouting at a boy standing in the corner of the room.

The boy didn't move. He had thick eyebrows, mascara on his eyelids, and his arms folded tightly. He watched the scene without expression.

An hour later, a doctor and two nurses arrived. They gathered around the bed, adjusting the frame so the man could sit upright. The doctor leaned in close. "Can you hear me?"

The old man stared out the window, offering no reply.

"Can you tell me your name?"

Silence.

The girl, who had cared for her grandfather for years, felt her face contort. Tears welled in her eyes. All those years of cost and care felt, in that moment, like they meant nothing.

The doctor whispered to the nurse, who began taking notes. Suddenly, the old man spoke in a thin, gravelly voice.

"What... year?"

The girl's grief vanished instantly. She sobbed, "It's 2026."

The doctor looked amazed. He glanced at the girl, then back at the patient. "His Broca's area is still responsive," he murmured, referring to the speech center of the brain.

The nurse leaned in and whispered, "Sir, the pending bills."

The doctor raised a hand to silence her. He turned to the boy leaning against the wall. "We know you've taken care of this man for the past twenty years. I understand it has been difficult. But we cannot provide further treatment with the pending payments."

The girl asked, "How many days are left on the contract?"

The nurse shuffled through her documents. "Twelve days."

The boy heard this but remained motionless. The girl turned to him and used sign language: When will you have the money?

The boy glanced at a calendar on the wall. Three dates were circled: August 23, 24, and 25. He signed back: August 27.

She looked at the doctor, then back at the boy. That's too tight. Can you make it August 25th?

The boy turned away.

Resigned, she looked at the doctor. "We'll settle the balance within the deadline."

The doctor stood and checked his watch. "I don't believe the remaining amount can be settled traditionally." He paused, his voice dropping to a cold professional tone. "Do not view this as a punishment. It is a contribution. Your participation ensures your grandfather's survival. Many breakthroughs require sacrifice."

Then he walked to the doorway. Before leaving, he held up five fingers — a silent reminder of the cost — and stepped out.

When the door clicked shut, the girl marched over to the boy and slapped him across the face.

He said nothing. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "Are you happy now? When the producer called me for that audition, you stopped me." She gasped for air. "You killed my dreams. You killed everything. And now look — you have to sacrifice yourself for those clinical studies?. Does any of this make sense?"

The boy looked at her and opened his arms for a hug. She pushed him away.

"If I'd taken that path, I could've been an actress. I could have been something. All of this would have been resolved."

The boy signed: That's prostitution, not talent.

She slapped him again — this time very hard, leaving a red fingerprint blooming on his cheek.

Suddenly, a wet, hacking sound came from the bed. The old man was vomiting. She shoved the boy aside and rushed to her grandfather's side.

A notification buzzed in the boy's pocket. He pulled out his phone and checked a private group chat.

Group member: Ladiboy has not arrived. The cafe owner has been screaming for an hour. I have his wig and the outfit. If Ladiboy is reading this: wipe your ass and get here ASAP, or I'll wipe it for you with my M4.

The boy rolled his eyes and slipped out of the room quietly, unnoticed by his sister.