The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Bobo lay curled up beside me, his tiny body rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The bandages wrapped around him stood out starkly against his golden fur.

He was safe.

He was healing.

But I still felt like something inside me was cracked open.

Mother and Father sat across from me.

Neither of them spoke.

They were waiting.

Waiting for me to talk.

“…I don’t want to.” My voice came out flat.

Father nodded slightly. “I understand.”

Mother, though—she leaned forward. “Akul…”

I clenched my fists.

“I just—” I exhaled sharply. “Just thinking about it makes me angry.”

“And that’s exactly why you need to talk about it.”

I looked away.

Mother’s voice was firm, but gentle. “If you keep it locked inside, it’ll fester. You don’t have to explain everything at once. Just start with what you remember.”

What I remembered.

I swallowed.

“…I heard screaming.” The words felt distant, like they weren’t even mine. “I was feeding the monkeys. Everything was normal. Then suddenly—chaos.”

I stared at the floor.

“The monkeys from the enclosure rushed toward something. I didn’t know what was happening, so I ran after them.”

My throat felt tight.

“And then…” My breath hitched.

I forced myself to keep going.

“…Then I saw Bobo.”

The memory hit me like a punch to the chest.

The pile of bodies. The snarling, snapping jaws. The way he fought and fought—not to win, not to hurt them—but just to reach me.

My hands curled into fists.

“After that… I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Everything blurred. I don’t remember anything except…”

I trailed off.

Mother’s voice was soft. “Except what?”

I closed my eyes.

“…Except the fear.”

Not mine.

Bobo’s.

Raw, unfiltered terror poured through our bond. Desperation. Helplessness.

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I had felt it all.

And I had been too late.

Mother sighed. “Akul… this is exactly why I told you to leave Bobo at home.”

I flinched.

She wasn’t scolding me.

But her voice carried the weight of experience.

“Monkeys are social,” she continued, “but they are also territorial. It’s in their nature to protect their space—to see outsiders as threats.”

Her eyes softened. “They weren’t trying to be cruel. They were just following instinct.”

I knew that.

I knew that.

It didn’t make the memory any less vivid.

“It still doesn’t make it right,” I muttered.

“No,” Father agreed. “But it makes it understandable.”

I looked up.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Put yourself in their position.”

I frowned.

“You wake up one day,” he continued, “and suddenly, a stranger is in your home. A stranger you don’t know, a stranger who doesn’t belong there. And that stranger is moving toward something you consider precious.”

His eyes were steady.

“What would you do?”

My breath caught.

“I wouldn’t—”

I hesitated.

Father waited.

I exhaled slowly.

“…I’d fight,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t let them get close.”

Father nodded. “Exactly.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Mother’s voice was quieter now. “It wasn’t malice, Akul. It was survival.”

I swallowed hard.

Survival.

I knew that. I did.

But that didn’t erase what I saw.

What I felt.

“…I’m not going to go crazy and start attacking the other monkeys,” I muttered.

Father gave me a knowing look. “I know.”

“It’s just…” My eyes flickered to Bobo’s sleeping form.

“…It hurts,” I finally admitted. “It really hurts.”

Father sighed.

And then—

He smiled.

“Good,” he said simply.

I blinked.

He leaned back, arms crossed. “It hurts because you care.”

I didn’t respond.

Didn’t know how to respond.

But as I looked down at Bobo—at the tiny creature who had risked everything to reach me—

I knew he was right.

“Come, my son.”

Father’s voice was calm, steady. “Let’s go home.”

I looked up.

The tension in my shoulders hadn’t left, but I nodded. Slowly, carefully, I cradled Bobo in my arms and stood up.

The nurses had done all they could. He was out of danger now—his breathing was steady, his body no longer trembling with pain. But he was still weak.

Still hurt.

And I wasn’t going to leave him alone for even a second.

As we stepped out of the nursing center, the afternoon sun was already dipping lower in the sky. The streets were quieter now, the rush of the morning fading into the lull of evening.

Bobo’s small body pressed against my chest, warm but fragile. His fur, once sleek and full, was ruffled and uneven where the bandages wrapped around him.

I kept my grip gentle, but firm.

I could still feel the faint thrum of our bond—the connection between us pulsing weakly.

And I poured everything I had into it.

Skill: Vital Surge—Active.

I let the energy flow, guiding it carefully through him. His wounds weren’t deep, but his body was exhausted. His cells needed time to repair, his muscles time to rebuild.

I wouldn’t let him recover alone.

Not after what happened.

A small tug at my sleeve made me pause.

Lina.

She stood beside me, looking up at Bobo with wide, watery eyes.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Her tiny fingers curled into my tunic, gripping it tightly.

I exhaled. “Yeah.”

She hesitated. Then—

Gently, carefully—she reached up and patted Bobo’s head.

“Be strong, Bobo,” she whispered.

The monkey didn’t move much, but his tail twitched slightly in response.

Lina’s face lit up. “He’s still alive!”

I sighed. “Of course he’s still alive, Lina.”

“But he moved!” She beamed, patting him again.

A faint chuckle slipped from my lips. Even in moments like this, she still found ways to make things feel lighter.

Father glanced back at us. “Come on. We’re almost home.”

The rest of the walk was quiet.

By the time we stepped inside, the house felt warmer than usual. Or maybe that was just me.

I went straight to my room, settling onto my bed with Bobo still in my arms.

I didn’t let go.

I didn’t even think about letting go.

Instead, I adjusted his position carefully, making sure he was comfortable.

Then—

Skill: Neural Acceleration—Active.

I didn’t know if it would help. I didn’t know if it would make a difference.

But I wanted him to feel it.

To know that I was here.

That he wasn’t alone.

Hours passed.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t eat.

Didn’t sleep.

I just sat there, pouring my energy, my focus, my mana into him.

Mother came in once to check on me. She didn’t say anything—just placed a small bowl of food on my desk and left quietly.

Father came in later. He stood at the doorway, watching for a long moment.

Then, finally—

“You did well today, my son.”

I didn’t look up. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

Silence.

Then a hand rested on my head.

“Sometimes, doing well doesn’t mean winning,” Father said. “It just means doing what you can.”

I swallowed hard.

He didn’t stay long. Just gave my shoulder a squeeze before stepping out.

The night stretched on.

Bobo’s breathing grew steadier. His heartbeat, stronger.

Slowly, his tiny fingers curled against my sleeve, holding onto me.

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time since everything happened—

I let myself breathe.