Chapter 2

"Victor Rowland! How many math problems have you finished?"

My heart jolted, and I hurriedly hung up the phone. For a moment, I couldn't help thinking how foolish I was, hoping that my mom, who had abandoned me at birth, would reach out and save me.

By the time I finished every single math problem, my stomach was cramping from hunger and throbbing with sharp, rhythmic pain.

Dad checked each problem one by one.

Whenever this happened, I would feel so anxious that I couldn't catch my breath. It felt just like I was drowning.

Suddenly, Dad broke into a bright, hearty smile.

"Well done! You got them all right! That's my boy, Victor. I knew you'd turn out to be the most promising one."

Dad smiled at me, and I smiled back. These were the rare moments when I felt truly happy.

"Since it's your sixth birthday tomorrow, how about I take you to a fancy restaurant for a big feast?" he asked.

"Okay!" I exclaimed at once. My eyes lit up, and my heart bubbled over with joy.

The other children at school were always showing off their birthday cakes. As for me, I hadn't even seen one before, and the thought alone made my mouth water.

That night, even though Dad had punished me with another 60 problems and left me so hungry that bile rose in my throat and burned in my chest, I still fell asleep with a smile on my face.

The next day, it finally felt like it really was my birthday the moment Dad placed six candles on a large birthday cake before me.

"Alright. Now close your eyes and make a wish."

I found myself in a daze. If only Dad could always be this gentle with me…

I closed my eyes and made my wishes in secret.

"First, I wish that Dad stays healthy and is happy every single day.

"Second, I wish that Dad won't punish me by making me do extra math problems anymore from now on."

As I opened my eyes, I saw Dad's expression turn icy in an instant.

"What did you wish for? Tell me."

My heart jolted. Trembling, I said, "But Dad, the books say that wishes won't come true if you say them out loud—"

"Are you talking back to me? Getting a bit too big for your boots, aren't you? That's an extra 100 math problems! Do them now! And eat while you work!"

Whispers rippled through the crowd around us, and my face burned with shame. Yet, not daring to defy him, I whispered, "I wished for you to be healthy and happy every single day."

Dad froze for a moment, his voice softening slightly.

"Blow out the candles."

I gathered all the breath I could muster, hoping to extinguish them in one go. But after having gone a day and a half without food, I couldn't even manage a proper breath. I only managed to blow out three candles.

"Why are you always like this?" Dad hollered at me, his hoarse voice seemingly loud enough to tear the roof off the restaurant. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and madness as he suddenly swept the cake off the table.

"You blow out candles like a sissy! What could you possibly ever accomplish in your life? That's going to be another 500 math problems for you. Start doing them now, and don't you dare leave until you've finished every single one!"

I couldn't hold back my tears anymore. I hated myself even more every time I saw him like this.

I knew that Dad was suffering from deep-seated psychological anguish, and I had to do better instead of making him worry all the time. But I was nothing but a failure who couldn't even get the simplest things right.

I was sure that Dad would be much happier if I were gone.

I pulled the math workbook, which Dad insisted I carry with me at every single moment, out of my bag and began to solve the math problems again.

A small crowd began to gather, whispering among themselves as they watched us. A kind-hearted elderly woman suddenly stepped forward and said, "Sir, it's the boy's birthday today. Surely there's no need to punish him over something so trivial? How long is it going to take him to finish over 500 problems?"

"Exactly! Kids today have it hard enough as it is. Look, the poor boy is shaking from hunger. Let him have something to eat!"

Dad suddenly erupted and screamed hysterically at them, "This is my son! What business is it of yours how I choose to raise him?

"What's 500 problems, anyway? If he can't handle a little hardship like this, how will he ever amount to anything?

"If you want to raise your own kids to be good-for-nothings, feel free to go home and do that! But don't you dare interfere with my son! He's destined to bring honor to our family name!"

"You're… You're hopeless!" the lady exclaimed before scurrying off, completely shocked by Dad's outburst.

Dad then shot me a cold, sharp glance.

"There you go, crying again like a little girl! Do another 100 problems! You're not leaving until you finish them all!"

Dad then headed toward the restroom.

I knew that he would go off to hide and smoke a few cigarettes whenever he scolded or punished me. I supposed he was just angry that I was such a disappointment to him.

The space around me soon cleared out, and whispers arose around me once again.

"Is this boy's father trying to run away without settling the bill?"

"This is hilarious. Maybe it's all just an act. He probably just came in here to enjoy the air conditioning in a high-end restaurant."

Just as I was about to speak up in Dad's defense, a man dressed in black approached me and asked, "May I please have a strand of your hair, young sir?"