Chapter 2

Looking at my mom, I swallowed back the words I wanted to say.

And just like that, my high-achieving, soon-to-be middle school self was pulled out of school by my mom, who was absolutely thrilled about her decision.

My mind felt hazy. I vaguely remember a doctor standing nearby.

“Ma’am, your child is stable now,” the doctor said. “There are other patients waiting for this bed. If you keep occupying it unnecessarily, someone else won’t get the treatment they need...”

She was politely trying to convince my mom to discharge me.

But my mom wasn’t having it. She planted her hands on her hips, pointed a finger at the doctor, and started yelling.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you seriously kicking a patient out of the hospital? Where’s your compassion? Did you lose your humanity along with your medical ethics?”

The doctor frowned at her nonsense but eventually walked away, clearly unwilling to argue further.

As soon as the doctor left, my mom smirked, looking smug and victorious.

The area around my hospital bed was crowded with fruit baskets and flower arrangements—all sent by my “fans.”

She grabbed a plum from one of the baskets and popped it into her mouth.

“Pretty nice, huh? Just lying there while I’m out here killing myself for you. Do you know how hard it is for me? Pretending to be you, thanking fans, entertaining visitors? My back’s practically broken!”

Then her tone softened as she reached out to stroke my hair.

“But it’s all for you, sweetheart. Everything I do is for you. The money we’re earning? It’s all going to be spent on you. You’ll remember how much I’ve done for you, won’t you?”

I lowered my gaze, my eyes dull and lifeless.

This wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want fans. I didn’t want attention. I just wanted to live a quiet, normal life.

As the hype around my injury finally died down, my mom declared it was time to “get back to work.” The hospital staff, probably relieved to see us go, cheerfully sent us off.

The moment we got home, my mom tossed a cookbook at me.

“Learn this recipe,” she ordered. “Don’t even think about sleeping tonight if you don’t get it right.”

I caught the book out of habit. This was nothing new to me.

But when I flipped it open, my eyes widened in shock.

The recipe was for sweet and sour fish, a dish that requires years of knife skills and precise temperature control to perfect.

“Mom, can I learn something else instead?” I asked, my voice trembling.

She glared at me, her eyes sharp and unyielding.

“Your fans love this stuff. They’re the reason we’re making money. If they want sweet and sour fish, you’ll make sweet and sour fish. Stop complaining!”

I clenched the recipe tightly in my hands.

If they told me to die, would I have to do that too?

That night, I felt like I was losing my mind. Every word in the recipe burned itself into my brain.

I moved like a machine, repeating the same motions over and over again.

Chopping onions, ginger, and garlic. Scaling fish. Ten, twenty, thirty fish...

My hands turned pale from soaking in water for so long. The sharp edges of the fish scales left cuts all over my fingers, blood dripping down onto the cutting board.

But I couldn’t stop.

My mom stood right next to me, watching my every move like a hawk.