Cerita Pendek & Novel Bias Familial Bond

Three months after my biological parents bring me home, I come down with a high fever. When I wake up, I gain a strange ability. I can see the "Final Beneficiary" behind every gift. My biological father, Michael Harper, holds a bowl of herbal tonic. He grasps my hand with a guild-ridden expression, saying, "I know I've always favored Zane. From now on, I'll make it up to you." Hovering above the bowl, however, is a line of blue text. "Final Beneficiary: Zane Harper." "Objective: Restore the donor's health in preparation for next week's bone marrow extraction." A chill crawls down my spine, but I keep my composure. Over the next few days, the Harpers' kindness becomes almost excessive. The expensive suit my sister, Maya Harper, gives me has a label attached to it, too. "Beneficiary: Zane Harper." "Objective: Make the fake heir appear more capable at the banquet." The same goes for the company shares my mother transfers to my name. "Beneficiary: Zane Harper." "Objective: Use the true heir as the legal representative to take the fall for the company's impending tax scandal." One night, Maya, who has always despised me, throws her arms around me. Her eyes are red with tears as she says, "We'll send Zane abroad tomorrow. From now on, you'll be the only one I spoil." At that moment, a massive crimson label flashes over her head, stinging my eyes. "Final Beneficiary: Zane Harper." "Objective: Appease the real heir and trick him into signing the heart transplant consent form tomorrow."

Mom buys a four-thousand-dollar laptop for my sister, Scarlett Lowine, when we're shopping for school supplies. Dad chooses a luggage bag for her while my brother, Christopher Lowine, buys a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for her. My childhood friend, Jasper Greeson, crouches in front of a shelf, comparing eye-caring desk lamps with a serious look on his face. "Gabby has bad eyes. This lamp's brightness is perfect for her." A warm sensation spreads through my chest. However, the feeling only lasts for a few seconds before Jasper places the lamp in Scarlett's shopping cart. "Be sure not to tire yourself out when you're doing revisions at night, Scarlett," he says, smiling. I stand on the side with my empty shopping cart, feeling like an outsider who's just responsible for watching over their bags. "Aren't you going to buy your supplies too, miss?" the cashier asks. Mom seems to only remember my existence then. She frowns as she looks at me and asks, "Your things are still working, right? They're fine as long as you can use them during university." I look down at the note app on my phone. For the past year, I've written down a list of things that I want to buy for university, including a laptop, bed drapes, a desk lamp, a luggage bag, a pair of sneakers, and more. I've also noted down the price for every item. However, nearly every item on the list has been crossed out. They tell me that Scarlett has a weak constitution, so they need to take care of her. They tell me that it's fine for me to endure a little hardship because I have good results. But they don't know that I've already used my scholarship money to buy a plane ticket to another city. As they pack Scarlett's luggage bag until it's bursting, I'm finally going to erase every trace of myself from this family.

When I was six, my older brother, Garrett Johnston, died in an accident. Not long after, Dad finds a stray kitten with a marking on its wrist that matches Garrett's birthmark. From that day on, the cat becomes my brother. Dad takes down my desk to make room for a luxury litter box, leaving me to do my homework on the dining table. He tears down our bunk bed and replaces it with a cat tree, banishing me to a bed made of stacked cardboard boxes on the balcony. Dad spares no expense on premium cat food, treats, clothes, and toys, while I get nothing at all. Finally, I pluck up the courage to ask Dad, "Garrett and I used to share everything. How come he gets it all now?" Dad just snaps at me. "Do you have any idea how hard Garrett worked to come back to me? He's just a cat now! Why are you still fighting with him?" But Dad, why are you crying again when I listen to you and stop fighting with Garrett?

The year I start 7th grade, my parents sit my brother and me down and hand us each a bank card. "This is your college fund. We've put 100,000 dollars in each account. "The PIN is your birthday. Don't touch it unless you absolutely have to." I listen to them, treating that card like something sacred. I never even buy a single new outfit. When my canvas shoes wear through, I glue the soles back together and keep wearing them. I tell myself that as long as I'm responsible enough, I'll deserve the "fairness" my parents promise us. Then senior year ends, and I decide to use the money for a graduation trip with my classmates. Yet the ATM screen displays, "Available Balance: 0.00". At that exact moment, my brother posts a picture of a first-class ticket to Velmark on Instagram. It hits me all at once. There are two identical cards, but only my brother's has ever had real money in it. My parents have used a worthless card to fool me for six whole years, buying my obedience and my entire adolescence for nothing. If they refuse to keep things fair, then I'll smash the whole facade apart myself.

On the day the SAT scores were released, I clutched my phone and waited anxiously for forty minutes. “I got a 1550! Oh, Bree got a 1540! We’re both going to Preston Medical University!” my twin brother Michael Ashby shouted. I was about to say I could go too, but my girlfriend, Brielle Willow, had already grabbed Michael’s hand and dashed out the door. Brielle only remembered me during the celebration. “Oh, Fin, Preston Community College is right next to the medical school. Why don’t you just apply to their nursing program? That way, the three of us could still hang out together.” Michael chuckled and lightly patted my head. “Male nurses are in demand. Later on, when goofball Bree and I are doctors, you can assist us as our nurse. It’s the perfect combo!” They complemented each other perfectly like two halves of a whole. I did not belong there. For years, I had been running myself into the ground trying to keep up. They were always miles ahead, and I could only watch from behind. For once, I chose not to chase after them any longer.

Ever since I was old enough to understand the world, I knew I was only a replacement for my dead brother. The day before I started elementary school, Mom and Dad took me to buy a backpack. Mom smiled and asked, “Blue or red? Which one do you want?” I picked blue. However, the moment I said it, her smile disappeared. She grabbed my shoulders so tightly that it hurt and screamed at me, “Why didn’t you choose red? Harry would only pick red!” Dad saw her lose control and slapped me across the face. My nose started bleeding. From that day on, whenever I chose something, I only dared to pick the color my brother would have liked. During recess, I was messing around with my classmates when some clay accidentally got stuck in my hair. The teacher kindly helped me cut it off. However, when Mom came to pick me up, she completely lost it. “Henry never had a buzz cut. You’re not my son!” She shoved me off the back of her electric scooter. I cried as I chased after her, running for half an hour before finally making it home. To keep from upsetting her again, I started copying my brother in everything. It was not until after the SATs that Mom demanded I give up my future and attend the community college near our house, even though I was the top scorer.

After I set up the camera, I realized the clients booked for a family portrait were the parents and older brother I'd run from five years earlier. The moment our eyes met, my mother's smile froze. Her eyes went red, and she asked uncertainly, "Remy... is that you?" "You're alive?" With one finger resting on the shutter, I reminded them, "Keep smiling. Look at the camera." My father shot to his feet. "Are you really this spiteful? Five years of hiding from us. What grievance in a family takes five years to get over?" I looked at the dog beside my brother, also named Remy, and couldn't understand what he was angry about. They were the ones who'd spent my whole childhood telling me I existed for one reason: to be marrow for my brother. Even the dog got to be in the family portrait I wasn't allowed in as a child. I gave up on that family a long time ago.

Not long after my wife and I got married, my mother-in-law unexpectedly had another child, a son. The entire family treated him like a miracle and let him get away with everything. Before long, he became an unbearable little monster. When he was ten, he pulled up a girl's skirt at school and yanked down her shorts. I confronted him about it, but my wife immediately turned on me. "He's my brother, not your son. What makes you think you have the right to discipline him?" I kept my anger to myself and moved out with our daughter, who had been growing more withdrawn by the day. Years later, the spoiled boy shoved a woman who was eight months pregnant down a flight of stairs. My wife called me in a panic and begged me to help him. All I wanted to tell her was that he was finally facing the consequences of his actions. Never did I imagine he could sink even lower...

When I touch someone else's personal belongings—things they have had direct contact with before—I can hear the items voicing their owner's thoughts. The day of my grandma's funeral, I clutch the emerald bracelet she wore for over 30 years and hear it shout, "The house mustn't go to Michael! He hit me!" Michael? That's my uncle's name, and right now, he's bawling his eyes out in front of Grandma's casket, seemingly grieving even harder than everyone else.

My mom returns my car after borrowing it for a month. The trunk is stuffed with boxes of local specialties from our hometown. I drive it to my friend's auto repair shop for a routine inspection. After checking underneath the car, my friend, Tom Stepney, crawls back out with a pale face. "Henry, who did you piss off lately? Someone cut your brake line halfway through," he said in shock. A chill runs down my spine as I immediately call Mom and say, "Mom, someone cut my brake line." The sound of poker cards being dealt onto the table echoes through the phone. She answers nonchalantly, "I told your brother to do that. Your old car was falling apart anyway." My voice trembles as I ask her why, and whether she realizes it could have gotten me killed. She responds as if it's no big deal, "Emmett's dating a young lady from the city. Her family wants an 800,000-dollar wedding gift. There's no way we can afford that. Your company bought you that accident insurance, right? It pays up to one million dollars. "I only told Emmett to cut the brake line a little. You won't die. That million-dollar insurance payout would be just enough to cover the amount he needs to get married."

I am the center of my parents' world. They turn my bedroom into every little boy's dream, with soccer balls, LEGO sets, and Transformers everywhere. They even spend a fortune installing a bathtub for me because I love taking baths. They always tell my little brother, Jason Tucker, that he has to protect me for the rest of my life. But everything changes when I take him into a hot bath with me, and he accidentally chokes on water. Mommy loses it. She grabs me by the throat and screams, "We thought you'd learn to care for your brother after all the love we gave you. We never imagined you'd turn out to be so ungrateful and try to drown him!" I shake my head frantically, but Mommy shoves me into the washing machine without hesitation. "You like taking baths, don't you? I'll give you a bath you'll never forget!" Mommy and Daddy take Jason out to play, but they fail to realize that they have accidentally pressed the washing machine's start button. The water keeps rising, but I can't climb out. As I'm tangled up with the clothes, I struggle to open my eyes and see Mommy and Daddy returning. I don't want to take baths anymore. Can Mommy and Daddy stop being mad at me?

On the day I graduated as the top student in the entire state, my parents threw a lavish celebration at a local banquet hall, inviting more than a hundred relatives and family friends. However, the seat of honor at the head table did not belong to me. It belonged to my older brother, Ethan Smith. A huge banner stretched across the room. [Congratulations to Ethan, Our Amazing Son, for Raising the State's Top Student!] Balancing a plate of food in my hands, I slipped into a seat by myself in the corner. Meanwhile, everyone crowded around Ethan. They clinked glasses with him, posed for photos with him, and praised him for raising such an outstanding younger brother. Before the party ended, our relatives handed their graduation cards and gifts to him instead of me. Some of the cards even contained cash, a reward for being such a 'devoted big brother'. Ethan accepted every last one with an easygoing smile. "I just kept him focused on his studies," he said modestly. Just like that, every sacrifice I had made—waking up at four every morning, working through countless practice exams, and studying through one sleepless night after another—became part of his achievement instead of mine. Later, I was awarded a $10,000 academic scholarship. My parents told me to transfer every last cent into Ethan's bank account. "Your brother's leaving for Newvale City to study arts administration," my mother said. "Tuition fees and living expenses aren't cheap. "Besides, you're majoring in education. You're going to be a teacher. You won't need nearly as much money." "I have college tuition to pay too," I protested. My mother slammed her fork onto the table. "Do you have any idea how much we've spent raising you for the past eighteen years? And now you can't even help your brother with this little bit of money?" That night, I packed my suitcase for move-in day. As I was getting ready to leave, my father pulled my college acceptance letter from the drawer, glanced at it, and spoke as if my future had already been decided. "After you graduate, come back and get a teaching job at a public school. Stay close to your brother. He'll need a family member nearby to look after him." It was only then that I finally understood. For the last eighteen years, they had never seen me as their son. I had only ever been the stepping stone they carefully laid beneath Ethan's feet. Once the road had been paved… Who would ever remember that the stone beneath it had once had its own dreams and desires?

Only ten days remain before I start my freshman year of college. Unable to wait any longer, I ask in our family group chat, "We agreed to take a graduation trip to Stonby together. When are we leaving?" An entire day passes without a single response. Then, at 6:00 pm, my younger sister sends a message. "Concert tickets are on sale! Who wants to pay for mine?" The group chat instantly comes alive, and my message disappears beneath the new replies. Mom and Dad immediately send her 10,000 dollars for the tickets. "Buy four tickets and bring your brother. The whole family can go together." My younger brother immediately objects. "Who says I want to go to a concert? I want a new phone instead! Besides, I already went to Stonby with her when she got into high school. Why do I always have to do whatever she wants?" I stare at his message in disbelief. I've spent more than a month of my summer eagerly waiting for our trip, but they've already gone to Stonby without me. "When did you go? Why didn't anyone tell me?" The moment I send the message, it disappears above Mom and Dad's replies to my brother. "Fine, we'll get you a new phone, but you're still going to the concert." "The whole family belongs together. No one gets left behind." Yet again, they forget that I'm part of the family, and my question goes completely ignored. I watch it move farther up the screen until it disappears from view, and suddenly, I laugh. If they don't want me in their lives, I'm done trying to force my way in. I buy a one-way ticket to Stonby and plan to head straight to college once the trip ends. For the next several years, I never make the journey home again.

After five years of being forcibly institutionalized in a mental hospital by my parents for “rehabilitation,” I awakened the “Slap System” skill. One slap, a million dollars deposited into my account. Another slap, my combat power skyrocketed. Just as I was thoroughly enjoying my slapping spree and preparing to leap over the asylum walls to break free, my parents suddenly arrived to take me home. The moment I stepped through the front door, I saw my adopted brother Atticus Hawthorne, eyes reddened, holding my fiancée, Cassandra Vaughn, in his arms. Meanwhile, my real brother Roman Montgomery was locked in a dog cage, bitten and torn by vicious hounds, covered in wounds, and breathing his last breath. The moment he saw me, a faint light flickered in his eyes. Using the last ounce of his strength, his lips trembled slightly. “Lysander... run…” Before the words could fully leave his mouth, his hand went limp and dropped. I smashed the dog cage open with everything I had, scooped up his still-warm body, and rushed outside like a madman. “Stop right there!” Cold-faced, my parents blocked the doorway. “Roman is pure evil. He tortured Atticus’s dog to death and drugged Cassandra. Suffering a little punishment like this is light for him! Why take him to a hospital over a tiny injury?” Atticus fell to his knees before me with a loud thud, tears streaming down his face. “Lysander, after five years, you still hate me this much... I’ll go die right now so I don’t stay in your sight…” Cassandra immediately shielded him behind her back, harshly berating me. “Lysander! The moment you return, you force Atticus to die! You should never have been released from the mental hospital!” I looked at their hypocritical, evil faces, then down at Roman’s closed eyes that would never open again, and slowly raised my hand. Bullying me? I could bear it. But torturing Roman to death... I was going to make them find out whether their bones were tougher, or my slaps were harder.

On the night of our wedding, Simone Laurent did not inject the promised capital into the Holt family's company. Instead, she had someone carry in a crate of scratch-off tickets. She undid the top buttons of her blouse, her eyes lazy with amusement. "Here are 2,000,000 dollars' worth of scratch-offs. Whatever you scratch off, that is what you get. Be good, Spencer, and maybe next time I will give you something real." I knew what she was doing. She punished me because yesterday I had ruined her evening, and I had thrown a glass of red wine all over her assistant, the one in the see-through shirt. I did not cry this time. I did not make a scene. My fingers found an ultra-thin condom in her pocket that was not my size, and I simply wiped my hand clean and said nothing. The surprise in her eyes lasted half a second before it softened into a satisfied smile. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, warm breath spilling against my ear. "That is right. Now you are starting to act like a husband who knows his place." She pulled out an unlimited black card and pressed it to my chest, the plastic cold through my shirt. "Take it. This should be more than enough for your family's company." I managed a stiff smile, pulled the card free, and handed it back. "I do not need it." She did not know this. During the days she spent breaking me in, my father had already been cornered by debt collectors on a rooftop and forced past the edge. Dead men did not need money.

I had spent six months drifting across the ocean on a cargo ship, but I would send 20,000 dollars back home every month. So, I really only had one thing on my mind the day I finally set foot on solid ground again—my wife's pork rib soup. When I pushed open the front door, I found my seven-month-pregnant wife, Sophia Merkin, sitting on our worn-out sofa. At that moment, my six months' worth of exhaustion, frustration, and pent-up anger from the roiling life at sea surged to the surface. "I've been busting my ass out there and working more than 10 hours a day. Yet, I don't even get a hot meal at home when I'm finally home?" Sophia said nothing. Instead, she walked over to the refrigerator and yanked the door open. That was when I saw that the fridge only had half a jar of ketchup and a bag of expired pasta with bugs. Then, she asked me dully, "What do you want to eat? Take your pick."

On the very first day my biological parents brought me home, the fake heir framed me for stealing and even got my fiancée to break off our engagement in front of everyone. Then my entire family told me to get out and go back to the countryside. Completely devastated, I wandered to the swimming pool, ready to end my life. That was when the Ragdoll cat at my feet, the fake heir’s beloved pet, suddenly spoke. 【For fuck’s sake! Don’t jump, you idiot!】 【In our last life, that two-faced bastard drove you to your death, stole the multi-billion-dollar inheritance your grandmother left you, and then tortured me to death too!】 I froze, one foot already hovering over the water. The cat smacked a paw against the ground impatiently, hatred blazing in its bright blue eyes. 【And that bastard’s biological parents are serial killers! The evidence is hidden inside the teddy bear in his room!】 【So quit trying to kill yourself, go find the evidence, and let’s take him down together!】 I stared at the cat, completely dumbfounded. But after a moment, I changed my mind. If my family wanted to throw away their real son so badly, then I’d make sure they lived to regret it. I turned around, marched into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest meat cleaver I could find, and kicked open the fake heir’s bedroom door.

The night before our SAT, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. I received a text from an unknown number. [Tomorrow at 6:30 a.m.. Leaving for the testing center. Your sister disappears.] I stared at the screen, my heart jolting. I did have a twin sister, Molly Young, and we were both scheduled to take the test the next day. But what a pathetic prank. I tossed my phone aside, turned over, and went back to sleep. The next morning, we had barely left the driveway when Molly suddenly cried out beside me. “Oh no, I forgot my admission ticket.” “Dad, pull over! I need to go back and get it.”

After transferring my villa to my best friend, Dylan Truman, I'm told that I'm not even the owner. The villa under my name now belongs to someone else. How's this even possible? I'm the only son of the chairman of Livington Group. How can anyone else possibly have a claim to what belongs to my family? The employee hurls the property deed in my face, his voice dripping with contempt. "Here, see for yourself. The registered owner is Kenneth Johnson. It was transferred a few days ago, and Mr. Johnson's moving in today." This makes no sense. All of my family's property is registered under my name. Kenneth Johnson? Who the heck is that?

My brother died, so my parents forced me to undergo plastic surgery to look exactly like him and live his life in his place. "Your brother was a genius. You can't just leave his fiancée and research project behind. You have to take over." "You've accomplished nothing with your life anyway. Getting to live his life is a lucky break for you." They seemed to have forgotten that I had my own name and that I had a life of my own. My identity records were canceled, and my parents acted as though they had every right to do it. "If you really care about our family, then you should understand why we're doing this." "We're doing this for your own good. Don't be so ungrateful." Everyone thought I would break down and run away. Instead, I smiled. "He was a genius? Fine. I will take his place." I later signed a high-stakes wager agreement with his former rival and even carried out increasingly reckless experiments in his name whilst wearing his face. "Don't go too far. You'll destroy our family…" I looked at them calmly. "I see." I tightened my grip on the letters my brother had left behind before quietly feeding them into the shredder.