The rain hadn't stopped. It pattered softly against the metal roof, a rhythm that echoed the hum of the lab's distant machines. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a lone console. Veylan stood near it, half-focused, half-listening.
He glanced over his shoulder.
"What's up, kid?" he asked.
Saro sat on a steel crate, knees pulled tightly to his chest, hoodie sleeves drawn over his hands. His eyes were downcast, locked on the floor as if staring too long at anything else might crack him open.
"…Nothing," he mumbled.
Veylan turned fully this time. His boots tapped softly against the metal floor as he approached.
"What's up with your life?"
Saro let out a breath—not quite a laugh. Just air and bitterness.
"Would you even give a damn?"
Veylan didn't flinch. He folded his arms, voice low and direct.
"Say the words."
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
Then Saro finally looked up—just a little. His voice trembled.
"I'm stuck in middle school…" he said. "I keep failing. I've lost all reason to try anymore."
His hands curled tightly into fists.
A memory flickered behind his eyes.
His mom—lying in bed, pale and trembling, yet smiling faintly through the pain. Her hands shaking as she held up a warm dinner plate, still trying to take care of him even as her body gave up.
"My mom has a heart problem," he said softly. "She's weak… can barely move sometimes."
His voice cracked.
"But she still works. At home. She never stops… Just to keep us alive."
Back in the lab, Saro's head dipped lower. He clenched his fists until the skin went white.
"I don't have friends," he said. "Just bullies. Fake people who smile to your face… then beat you down the next second."
His voice became quieter, sharper.
"That's why I didn't go to school today."
A beat passed.
"Because I'd just get beaten again."
Veylan didn't interrupt. No sarcasm. No half-laughs. He just stood there, still and steady, absorbing it all.
"So your life's hanging by a thread," he said finally.
Saro nodded once. Slow. Fragile.
"You could say that," he whispered. "And when that thread snaps…"
He stared down at his shoes.
"I might, too."
The silence thickened for a moment.
Then Veylan knelt in front of him. For once, his usual sharpness faded, replaced by something direct—almost human.
"If you had the chance to change everything," he asked, "would you take it?"
Saro blinked. His eyes met Veylan's, surprised.
"…Is that even possible?" he asked.
Veylan stood slowly, turning toward a sealed steel door nestled in the back wall.
"There's a way," he said. "But it has only a one percent chance of success."
He paused, letting the weight of that number land.
"If you pass that… your odds go up to seventy-five."
Saro didn't speak at first.
But his eyes—where there had been only defeat—flared with something else. Something old. Something long buried.
"…I want to," he said. And he meant it.
Veylan walked over and placed a firm hand on Saro's shoulder.
"Look, Saro," he said, voice calm but strong. "You're young. You're smart. You've got fire—but you've buried it so deep you forgot it was there."
His hand tightened slightly.
"Use that willpower," he continued. "Use it like an engine uses fuel. Burn it. Push it. Until your heart screams like a roaring machine."
Saro didn't respond.
He just sat there—still—but no longer hopeless.
Not broken.
Just… waiting.
Veylan squeezed his shoulder gently.
"Life's always gonna throw dips, walls, and chaos at you," he said. "But when you fight with everything you've got… You'll find out what living really means."
Saro looked up.
A tiny smile crept across his face. Wobbly. Real.
"You really think I'm smart?"
Veylan smirked.
"Smarter than half the people I've met in my one hundred and twelve years," he replied.
He stepped back, arms folded.
"You just don't know it yet."