Miguel stood at the edge of the sidewalk, his piercing black eyes scanning the streets, watching people pass by as cars rushed past in the background.
Finally, he spotted an empty taxi.
Raising his hand, he signaled for it to stop. The cab pulled over, and Miguel slowly approached before opening the door and getting inside.
"Good morning. Roosevelt Avenue, please," he said in a mechanical tone.
The driver nodded and pulled back into traffic, weaving once again through the streets of New York.
Miguel sat in the back seat, leaning his head against the window. His cold, expressionless face watched the buildings pass by one after another.
Knowing the trip to the psychiatric center would be long, he pulled his phone from his pocket—anything to pass the time and avoid dying of boredom.
Unlocking it, he noticed he had over 30 unread messages. Judging by their timestamps, they'd been sitting there for a while. He must have ignored them this morning, half-asleep.
Opening WhatsApp, his expression finally changed—from indifference to concern.
Over 36 unread messages, all from the same contact: Dad.
"…Crap. I'm dead," Miguel muttered, a trace of worry in his voice.
He quickly opened the chat.
Dad: holy moly holy coly
Dad: Have you eaten yet???
Dad: I'm sure you must be busy with work, but you could at least reply.
Dad: I hope you're not ignoring me.
Miguel let out a small sigh of relief. Just his father worrying again—nothing serious. Things couldn't possibly get worse.
He immediately regretted thinking that when he scrolled down.
Dad: So I'm worried about you, and you think, "It'd be a great idea not to reply." 😡😡
Dad: It's been three hours and still no response.
Dad: Don't even think about using time zones as an excuse. That won't work.
Dad: You have 13 hours to reply.
Miguel checked the timestamp—8:24 p.m.—then looked at the current time: 8:25 a.m.
Right then, a notification popped up:
You have been blocked by this user.
Miguel slowly closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath.
Opening them again, the notification was still there. He couldn't send any messages.
Cold sweat slid down his face as panic crept in.
No… it was impossible. His father couldn't have blocked him. Well… he had just done it, but still—this had to be a joke. Right? …Right?
His thoughts spiraled, his face growing paler by the second. He needed to find a solution fast.
If there was one thing Miguel feared above all else, it was his father turning his back on him.
Just as he was thinking, another notification appeared.
> You have a new message from Mrs. Scarlett.
Miguel froze. The chaos in his mind stopped for a few seconds, and his expression brightened.
He had just found a possible way out.
He opened her message.
Mrs. Scarlett: Congratulations, Miguel. You're officially fatherless. But hey, it happens to everyone—
…okay, just forget I said that.
No, seriously, I just wanted to tell you that if you need comfort, I'm here 😘😘.
Miguel's expression instantly went cold again. He knew Scarlett was joking, but it still irritated him.
He typed quickly.
Miguel: What do you mean by "fatherless"?
Her reply came instantly.
Mrs. Scarlett: You seriously ignored your dad's messages? I expected a lot from you, but that…
Anyway, I know he blocked you.
Miguel: I didn't ignore him, I just didn't notice his messages. And how do you even know that?
Mrs. Scarlett: I told him to do it. 😉
Miguel: You what 😡😡
Mrs. Scarlett: Fine, fine, my little pet. I just suggested he show you it's wrong to ignore your dad. The poor man was so worried.
Miguel: There were other options.
Mrs. Scarlett: Shhhh, my little pet. Don't think too much. If you promise me a little date, I might put in a good word for you.
Miguel stared at the screen for a moment, then typed in big letters:
Miguel: NO.
Mrs. Scarlett: …
Mrs. Scarlett: Fine, do what you want. But don't come crawling to me when you need help.
Miguel: No need. I'll just ask Mr. Mathias.
Mrs. Scarlett: Mathias… You'd rather trust that arrogant leech than go out with me once?
Miguel: …
Miguel: YES.
Mrs. Scarlett: You know what? Whatever. I didn't care about the date anyway. It wasn't even important.
Actually, now I get why you're still single… virgin. 😒😒
Miguel: I'm just wondering how desperate you must be to even offer this little virgin a date.
Mrs. Scarlett: It's not like I wanted to go out with you, idiot. I'm not short on suitors. I was just doing you a favor.
Miguel: No need to say no one wants to go out with you.
Miguel: …Actually, maybe you do need to hear it.
Mrs. Scarlett: 🖕
Miguel: Me too. I hope to see you soon, Mrs. Scarlett, and—
Before he could finish, the "blocked" notification popped up in the name of mrs scarlett
Miguel wasn't worried. This kind of conversation was normal for them—and it could get even worse when Mathias was involved.
Speaking of him, Miguel scrolled through his messages and found four from Mathias.
Mr. Mathias: Yo, your dad told me you weren't answering his messages. I just told him you were probably super busy or dead tired and would reply later.
Mr. Mathias: Meanwhile, that red-haired witch wouldn't stop harassing him, telling him to block you. So hurry and reply.
Mr. Mathias: Well… I think you're screwed. I couldn't stop that demon from convincing your dad, but I'm sure it can be fixed.
Mr. Mathias: Oh, and my internship went great. Never thought I could do something that human, but thanks for your advice. Finish yours, and we'll celebrate together—with your dad, and without that pain-in-the-ass demon.
Miguel let out a quiet chuckle at the last part.
He knew Mathias had struggled at first with his internship, but Miguel had asked his father to help him. After all, friends help each other.
That was one of the many lessons his father had taught him. And besides Mathias and Scarlett, Miguel had no other friends.
"We've arrived."
Miguel's thoughts broke at the sound of the driver's voice. He lifted his head and looked out the window to see the psychiatric center.
He hadn't even noticed the ride pass by—but at least he hadn't been bored.
He thanked the driver, paid the fare, and stepped out.
St. Aldrilch Medical Center
A discreet psychiatric hospital tucked between two dull buildings on Roosevelt Avenue, away from prying eyes. Founded in 1927, renovated multiple times to fit the times—and also the place where Miguel was completing his internship.
Miguel stared at the building with an unreadable expression. His mood was impossible to guess.
But one thing was certain—he needed to be in top form.
Today was his last day of internship.