Chapter 3

I became a walking example of "social death," and no matter where I went, people recognized me. When I tried to buy a bottle of water at a convenience store, the owner took one look at me and immediately drove me out.

"Not selling to you! People like you will dirty my shop!"

On the street, strangers avoided me like I carried a disease. They pointed, whispered, stared.

One time, a random man suddenly rushed up and punched me straight in the face.

"I'll beat you to death, you piece of trash!"

I crouched on the ground, clutching my head as blood ran from my nose down past my lips.

Despair filled my chest.

What did I even do wrong? I kept asking myself.

It was just two letters. How did that turn me into some unforgivable criminal?

Then I suddenly remembered something a friend once mentioned.

There was an underground therapist out in the suburbs. Someone who specialized in handling… strange cases.

With nowhere else to go, I took the few hundred dollars I had left and followed the address my friend had given me.

The place was tucked away in a remote corner on the outskirts, small and bare, with nothing inside but a single table and two chairs.

The therapist was a middle-aged man with sharp eyes that felt like they could see straight through me.

I sat across from him and told him everything.

From being tagged late at night by my supervisor, to replying "OK" and getting fired.

From being abandoned by my fiancée, to being attacked online, to getting kicked out by my landlord.

I spoke through tears, my voice breaking more than once, on the edge of collapse.

The man, Draven Charlton, listened quietly the whole time without interrupting me. Only after I finished did he slowly slide a blank sheet of paper and a pen toward me.

"Write the word 'OK.'"

My hand trembled as I picked up the pen.

On the paper, I wrote the two letters that had destroyed everything, then handed it back to him, hoping, almost begging, for an answer, one that could somehow save me.

Draven stared at the letters as his expression slowly turned serious, his brows drawing tighter and tighter together while his fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table in restless rhythm.

The air in the room grew heavy, almost suffocating. He stayed silent for a full five minutes.

Then suddenly, he grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and pointed them at me.

"Get out. Right now. If you don't, I can't guarantee your safety."

"Mr. Charlton, please tell me what's going on! I really don't know what I did wrong!" I cried, stepping forward.

"Don't come any closer!" Draven's hand was shaking. The tip of the scissors was aimed straight at me, his eyes filled with fear and caution. "Wherever you go, you'll only bring disaster… Leave. Now. And don't ever come back!"

I refused to give up. I tried to press him for answers. However, Draven suddenly stood up and shoved me toward the door.

"Go! If you don't leave, I'll kill you!"

I was pushed outside and the door slammed shut behind me. I pressed myself against it, hearing his rapid, panicked breathing from the other side, as if I were some kind of monster.

With nowhere left to go, I fled back to my hometown, thousands of miles away, to that small, isolated town where my family lived, my last refuge.

After more than ten hours on a long-distance bus, followed by another two-hour ride, I finally reached the entrance to the town.

From a distance, I saw them waiting for me, Old Bruce, the town's mayor, along with my parents, all of them smiling.

"Eric, you're back. That's all that matters." My mother hurried over and grabbed my hands.

Her eyes were red as she gently touched my face again and again. "You've lost weight. Why are you so thin? Did something happen out there? Did someone treat you badly?"

My father patted my shoulder. A man of few words, he kept repeating the same line. "It's good you're back. You'll always have food here."

My younger brother, Marvin Johnson came over with a grin and took my luggage. "Long trip, huh? Mom made your favorite meatloaf."