Chapter 3: The Back Injury

Sebastian was woken by the pain.

On the bedroom bed, he shifted slightly, intending to roll over, but a sharp, stabbing ache flared up in his waist. It felt as if a rusted nail were being wrenched from the inside out.

He lay still for a few seconds to compose himself before slowly propping his body up. His right leg touched the floor first as he cautiously maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed.

He pulled open a drawer. Tucked away at the very back was a black medical waist brace—a wide band reinforced with support struts.

He took it out and, with practiced movements, wrapped it around his waist, pressing each Velcro strap firmly into place until it was tight. A familiar pressure took hold, forcibly suppressing the sharp pain into a dull, throbbing ache.

He stood up to test it. He could walk, though his posture was noticeably stiff.

While washing up, he checked his waist in the mirror. Near his right hip bone, a bruise the size of a palm had bloomed, its edges tinged with purple. Lucian’s kick had been both brutal and precise, landing exactly where his old injury resided.

He stared at the bruise for two seconds before expressionlessly pulling his shirt back down.

As he headed downstairs, he gripped the handrail, making sure each step was steady before moving to the next.

The living room had been tidied.

The sofa was back in its place, the items on the coffee table were organized, and the floor was spotless. The dining table, however, was empty.

He walked to the kitchen door and took a glance.

The stove had been wiped down, there were no dirty dishes in the sink, and the trash can contained the remains of last night’s charred steaks and blackened broccoli.

Sebastian looked away and walked toward the dining area.

Just as he sat down at the table, footsteps echoed from the stairs.

Lucian had come down.

His complexion was terrible; dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his eyelids were slightly swollen. It was impossible to tell if he had spent the night crying or if he had been too enraged to sleep. Seeing Sebastian at the table, his pace faltered for a fraction of a second before he continued straight toward the front door as if the man were invisible.

"Where is breakfast?"

Lucian’s footsteps came to a dead halt.

He spun around, glaring at Sebastian. The fury in his eyes looked ready to erupt like a volcano.

"You're asking me?" His voice was raspy. "Breakfast? Do you not have hands of your own?"

Sebastian leaned back against his chair, one hand resting on the edge of the table, and looked up at him.

He was dressed in loungewear similar to yesterday's. The brace was hidden underneath, but his sitting posture was far stiffer than usual; he didn't dare let his back fully touch the chair. His face, however, remained a mask of cold indifference.

"You’re living in my house," he said, his tone flat. "And you aren't paying rent. The food and drinks are all mine. What’s wrong with providing a little physical labor for a morning meal?"

Lucian’s fists clenched.

He stood in the foyer, gripping the straps of his backpack until his knuckles turned white. He stared at Sebastian, his chest heaving. Ten thousand insults swirled in his throat, yet he couldn't utter a single one.

Because the man was speaking the truth.

He had nowhere else to go, no money, and without a guardian’s signature, he couldn't even attend school. He was living under this man’s roof, eating this man’s food, and using this man’s water.

He hated it enough to grind his teeth; he wanted to tear that indifferent face to pieces.

But all he could do was grit his teeth, hurl his backpack onto the floor, and storm into the kitchen.

The refrigerator door was yanked open with a bang. The egg carton was slammed onto the counter. He nearly dropped a slice of bread as he pulled it from the bag, catching it just in time before cursing under his breath.

Sitting at the dining table, Sebastian heard the commotion in the kitchen, and the corner of his mouth quirked ever so slightly.

Fifteen minutes later, a plate of fried eggs and toast was placed in front of him.

The eggs were cooked perfectly, with crispy golden edges and runny yolks. The toast was lightly browned and cut into two neat triangles. Beside them were several slices of apple, arranged in an orderly fashion.

Sebastian glanced at the plate, then up at Lucian.

Lucian remained standing by the table, refusing to look at him, his gaze fixed out the window.

Sebastian picked up a fork and took a bite of the egg.

Lucian’s peripheral vision flickered toward him before quickly darting away.

Sebastian chewed slowly, then tried a piece of toast. Finally, he set down his fork and took a napkin to wipe his mouth.

Lucian’s spine went rigid.

"Not bad," Sebastian said.

Sebastian picked up his glass and took a sip of water. As if oblivious to the boy’s expression, he added: "Next time, you could slice the apples a bit thinner."

Lucian’s clenched fists slowly relaxed.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then, deciding that words were a waste of time, he turned and left. He didn't even have a proper grip on his backpack; it nearly slid off his shoulder before he caught it and slammed the front door behind him.

Bang.

Sebastian sat at the table and finished the rest of his breakfast.

When he was done, he cleared the plate, rinsed it in the sink, grabbed his car keys, and headed out.

An hour later, his car pulled up in a quiet alley.

The storefront was small and the sign was low-key, simply reading "Private Massage," with no phone number listed.

When he stepped out of the car, his movements were significantly stiffer than they had been that morning. After a few steps, he stopped at the entrance, leaning a hand against his waist. He paused for a moment before pushing the door open.

"Oh, look who it is. Counselor Sebastian is here," the young woman at the front desk, Maddy, said as she immediately stood up. "Why are you here at this hour? Don't you usually come in the evening?"

Sebastian didn't say anything, merely holding his waist as he walked inside.

Seeing his posture, Maddy’s smile faded, and she quickly stepped out from behind the desk. "Injured again? Is it bad?"

"It’s fine," Sebastian said tonelessly. "Is Joe in?"

"Yes, yes. Uncle Joe is in the back. I'll go get him!"

"No need." Sebastian was already heading for the stairs. "I’ll go up myself."

He gripped the handrail, taking it one step at a time.

The door to the last room on the second floor was open. A man in his fifties was tidying up. Hearing someone enter, he turned around, and upon seeing Sebastian’s state, his brow furrowed immediately.

"What did you do to yourself this time?" Joe walked over and reached out to lift Sebastian’s shirt. "Let me see."

Sebastian didn't resist.

When the shirt was lifted, the large patch of bruised purple on his waist was revealed. Joe hissed through his teeth, pressing lightly on the edge. Sebastian let out a muffled groan of pain.

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"And here?"

"That hurts too."

Joe pulled his hand back and glared at him. "Were you in a fight? Or did you work yourself into the ground again? How many times have I told you? This is an old injury. If you keep pushing it, eventually—"

"I know," Sebastian interrupted, moving toward the massage table on his own. "Just rub it out, then help me put the other one on."

Joe wanted to say more, but seeing how Sebastian struggled just to lie down, he swallowed his words.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of palms pressing against skin.

Sebastian lay face down on the massage table, his eyes closed. Joe’s hands were powerful, and the pressure was excruciating, but Sebastian didn't make a sound. Only his shoulders would occasionally tense up before slowly relaxing again.

After a long while, Joe patted his back. "Alright, you can get up now."

Sebastian sat up slowly.

Joe took a waist brace out of a cabinet. This one was even wider than the one Sebastian used at home, and the support struts were much firmer. Sebastian took it and, with practiced ease, wrapped it around himself, tightening and securing it.

"Try to avoid sitting too much for the next few days. Lie down whenever you can," Joe said. "And stop getting into physical altercations. If you injure this waist one more time, not even God will be able to help you."

Sebastian stood up and moved a bit to test it.

The sharp pain in his waist had been suppressed into a heavy, dull throb.

He straightened his clothes and headed for the door.

"I’ll send the payment via WeChat," he said.

Joe let out a sigh behind him but said nothing more.

When Sebastian stepped out of the massage clinic, the sunlight was at its peak.