Kai’s first mistake on Thursday morning was believing that one manageable problem could remain manageable for an entire day. His second was assuming Ethan would let him skip breakfast without making it everyone’s concern. “You look terrible,” Ethan said the moment Kai entered the lecture hall. Kai placed his bag on the desk. “Good morning to you too.” “I’m being affectionate.” “Try being quiet.” Ethan slid a wrapped pastry across the desk. “Eat.” Kai looked at it. “Where did you get that?” “From the cafeteria.” “You bought it?” “No, I negotiated with the cook using my charming personality.” “So you stole it.” “I prefer the term emotionally acquired.” Kai sighed but took the pastry. He had barely opened the wrapper when his phone vibrated. An email from the scholarship office. His fingers stopped moving. Subject: Request for Additional Review Meeting Kai opened it. The university requested that he attend an interview the following afternoon to discuss his conditional continuation, financial circumstances, academic recovery plan, and scholarship eligibility. He read the message twice. Ethan noticed the change in his expression. “What is it?” “Scholarship office.” “Bad?” “Review meeting tomorrow.” Ethan leaned closer. “Does it say they’re cancelling your scholarship?” “No.” “Then don’t cancel it for them in your head.” Kai folded the phone into his palm. The email explained that the meeting would not necessarily result in a negative decision. However, the scholarship committee required clarification regarding his attendance record and whether his current circumstances would affect his ability to complete the semester. The words were professional. Neutral. That somehow made them worse. Kai had spent weeks trying to convince the university that he could continue. Now he had to prove that the opportunity they had given him would not be wasted. Ethan nudged the pastry toward him. “Eat first.” “I’m not hungry.” “You’re about to attend a scholarship meeting on an empty stomach?” “I can think without eating.” “Technically, yes. But you become meaner.” “I’m always mean.” “Exactly. You need nutritional supervision.” Kai took a bite. Ethan smiled in triumph. “See? I’ve saved your academic future.” “You bought me a pastry.” “Every great achievement begins somewhere.” ⸻ The morning passed in a blur of lectures and notes. Kai tried to focus on pharmacology, but his thoughts kept returning to the email. The scholarship office wanted information he had already submitted. Employment records. Medical documentation. Attendance explanations. He knew the process was necessary. He also knew that paperwork could reduce a person’s life to figures, dates, and explanations that never fully captured the truth. A missed lecture became an attendance percentage. A hospital bill became a financial burden. A tired student became an academic risk. When the lecturer asked a question, Kai answered correctly. When the class moved into group work, he completed his section. He performed exactly as expected. Yet beneath the surface, his mind was counting. How much his family had left. How many shifts he could afford to lose. How many weeks remained before his scholarship payment might resume. How long his father’s treatment could continue if the subsidy was delayed. At noon, his phone vibrated again. This time, it was his mother. The hospital needs one more document from your father’s doctor. I’m going after work. Don’t leave class for it. Kai immediately typed: I’ll get it. Her reply came quickly. You have your clinical session. I’ll handle it. Kai frowned. He typed again. Mum, you’re already working late. And you’re already doing too much. Let me handle this one. Kai stared at the message. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to carry the responsibility simply because he was busy. But that was exactly what he had been doing to her. He deleted his response. Then he wrote: Call me if you need help. A few seconds later, she replied: I will. Kai placed the phone face down. Ethan, sitting beside him, glanced over. “You didn’t argue.” “Don’t sound so shocked.” “I’m witnessing personal growth.” “Enjoy it. It may never happen again.” ⸻ That afternoon, Kai’s pharmacy manager confirmed the revised schedule. He would be allowed to attend Friday’s clinical session, but the adjustment meant losing several working hours. The manager also warned him that further changes might not be possible during the busy period. Kai thanked him and left the office with the updated schedule in hand. He calculated the lost income before he reached the storeroom. It wasn’t catastrophic. But it wasn’t insignificant either. Every reduced hour meant another calculation at home. Every calculation reminded him that his family had no room for emergencies. His phone buzzed. A message from Ethan. Did they approve the shift exchange? Kai replied: Yes. I’ll lose some hours. Want me to cover one of your other shifts? Kai stared at the screen. His first instinct was to refuse. The second was to say he would manage. The third, quieter one, asked why accepting help had to feel like surrender. He typed: One shift. Only if it doesn’t affect your classes. Ethan responded immediately. I’ll check my schedule. And don’t make that face. Kai looked around the empty storeroom. What face? The one where you act like accepting help has personally insulted your ancestors. Kai almost laughed. You’re impossible. You’re welcome. For the first time that day, Kai felt some of the pressure loosen. Not disappear. Just loosen. And perhaps that was what progress looked like. ⸻ In Singapore, Adrian had reached the point where every possible solution appeared to create two new problems. The revised proposal lay open before him. Instead of acquiring the supplier outright, Blake Corporation could purchase a minority stake, provide operational financing, and secure a long-term supply agreement without assuming complete ownership of the company’s existing liabilities. The arrangement would preserve more cash. It would also leave Blake Corporation without full control. Victor Hale would object. Several board members would call it indecisive. The legal team had already warned that the supplier’s owners might reject an arrangement that offered them less immediate financial benefit. But the proposal was more sustainable than either accepting the original supplier’s demands or absorbing an unstable acquisition. Adrian read the final section again. Then he looked at Marcus. “Arrange a meeting with the supplier’s owners.” Marcus checked his tablet. “Before the board review?” “Before the board review.” “They may refuse to negotiate.” “Then we’ll know before we present an assumption as a strategy.” Marcus nodded, then hesitated. “You’ve changed the structure.” “I’ve adjusted the approach.” “Victor will say you’re retreating.” Adrian closed the folder. “Victor says many things.” “And if the board rejects the revised proposal?” “Then I’ll present the risks of every available alternative.” Marcus studied him. “You haven’t slept.” “I slept.” “For four hours.” “That’s an improvement.” “Your standards are becoming concerning.” Adrian ignored the comment and reached for his phone. There was no message from Kai. He checked the time. Kai would be attending his clinical session soon. Adrian knew he was also preparing for the scholarship review meeting. He wanted to ask how the email had affected him, but he didn’t want to turn every conversation into another demand for information. He typed: How is your day going? The reply arrived after several minutes. Busy. Adrian waited. Then: The scholarship office wants a review meeting tomorrow. Adrian’s expression hardened. Did they give a reason? They want clarification about my attendance, recovery plan, and financial situation. Are you prepared? I have the documents. I just don’t know if that will be enough. Adrian leaned back in his chair. He knew the instinct rising inside him. He could contact someone at the university. He could ask his legal team to review the requirements. He could find a way to make the process easier. He could also cross a boundary Kai had made clear. So he asked instead: Do you want me to help you prepare, or do you want me to listen? The reply took longer this time. Help me prepare. But don’t contact anyone. Adrian answered immediately. I won’t. And don’t try to solve it for me. I won’t do that either. You say that very confidently. I’m practicing restraint. Kai sent a laughing emoji. Adrian looked at it longer than necessary. Then he wrote: Send me the questions they included in the email. We can review them together if you want. You have your board report. I can do both. That sounds suspiciously like overworking. Adrian glanced at the report. You’re becoming difficult. I learned from you. A faint smile crossed his face. Then I apologize to the world. Kai’s next message arrived several minutes later. I’ll send the questions tonight. All right. Adrian hesitated before adding: And Kai? What? Whatever happens in the meeting, it doesn’t erase the work you’ve already done. The response didn’t come immediately. When it did, it was short. I’m trying to believe that. Adrian stared at the message. You don’t have to believe it all at once. ⸻ The scholarship interview was scheduled for Friday at two. Kai had a clinical session that ended at twelve-thirty, leaving him enough time to reach the administrative building if he didn’t stop anywhere. That was the plan. Naturally, the hospital called at eleven-forty. Kai stepped out of the clinical room and answered. “Hello?” “Is this Kai Anderson?” a woman asked. “Yes.” “This is the hospital assistance office. We received part of your documentation, but the doctor’s treatment estimate is missing a signature. Without it, we cannot complete the verification.” Kai closed his eyes. “I can bring it today.” “The office closes at four.” “I’ll be there before then.” “You should also know that the temporary medication arrangement expires soon. If the subsidy is not finalized, the outstanding amount may need to be settled directly.” Kai’s hand tightened around his phone. “How soon?” “Early next week.” He forced his voice to remain steady. “I understand.” After the call ended, he stood in the corridor, staring at nothing. Early next week. The scholarship meeting was tomorrow. His mother was handling the doctor’s document. The pharmacy schedule had already been reduced. And Adrian was facing a board that might challenge his leadership. For one dangerous moment, Kai considered withdrawing from the scholarship review meeting. If he lost the scholarship anyway, at least he wouldn’t have to sit in front of a committee and explain why his life had become impossible to organize. Then Ethan’s voice sounded behind him. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” Kai turned. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking.” “You’re looking at the wall like you want to challenge it to a fight.” Kai slipped his phone into his pocket. “The hospital needs another signature.” “Can your mother get it?” “She’s going after work.” “And you?” “I’ll go after the clinical session.” “Then what’s the problem?” “The scholarship meeting.” Ethan’s face changed. “You’re not thinking of skipping it.” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.” Kai looked away. Ethan stepped closer, his voice losing its teasing edge. “Kai, you fought to remain enrolled. You submitted documents, attended the review, and accepted conditions you didn’t want. Don’t disappear now because the next step scares you.” “I’m not scared.” “Fine. You’re aggressively concerned.” Kai exhaled. Ethan continued, “You don’t need to convince them that your life is perfect. You need to explain what happened and show them how you’re addressing it.” “And if they decide I’m too much of a risk?” “Then you deal with that decision when it happens. Not before.” Kai looked at him. Ethan shrugged. “You taught me that once.” “I never said that.” “You implied it through your unbearable personality.” Kai shook his head, but the tension in his chest eased slightly. He took out his phone and called his mother. She answered on the second ring. “Did something happen?” “The hospital needs a signed treatment estimate.” “I’m already arranging it.” “I’ll come with you after my shift.” “No. You have your meeting tomorrow to prepare for.” “I can do both.” His mother was quiet. Then she said, “You can. But you don’t have to do everything yourself.” Kai looked at Ethan, who was pretending not to listen. “I know,” Kai said. It still felt strange to say. But this time, he meant it. ⸻ That night, Kai sat at the small dining table with his laptop open and his documents arranged in neat piles. Attendance records. Medical reports. Employment schedule. Academic results. Recovery plan. He had highlighted the important sections and written possible answers in a notebook. Why did your attendance decline? Because his father’s illness had worsened, his work schedule had become unstable, and he had been trying to maintain his family’s medical expenses while continuing his studies. What has changed? He had requested schedule adjustments, accepted a reduced work shift, arranged family support, and committed to the university’s recovery plan. Can you meet the conditions? Yes. The answer was simple. The reality was not. His phone rang. Adrian. Kai answered and adjusted the laptop so he could see the screen. Adrian appeared in a dark shirt, his hair slightly disordered, the exhaustion in his face impossible to hide. “You look terrible,” Kai said. Adrian’s eyebrow lifted. “You’ve said that before.” “It remains accurate.” “I’m glad your medical judgment is consistent.” Kai glanced at the report behind him. “How is the acquisition?” “Complicated.” “That’s not a useful answer.” “I’m negotiating a partial investment instead of a full acquisition.” Kai paused. “Would that work?” “It may. It reduces financial exposure but limits control. The supplier’s owners may reject it.” “Then prepare for that possibility.” “I am.” Kai looked at him carefully. “Are you sleeping?” “Yes.” “Properly?” Adrian’s silence answered for him. Kai pointed at the screen. “You’re a hypocrite.” “I’ve been informed.” “By me.” “And Marcus.” “Then perhaps listen to the people who are correct.” Adrian’s lips curved faintly. “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Kai looked down at his notes. “I don’t know.” “That’s an honest answer.” “I have everything they asked for. I just don’t know whether they’ll think it’s enough.” Adrian leaned slightly closer to the camera. “Tell them the truth.” “I am.” “Not only the parts that make you look capable.” Kai went quiet. Adrian continued, “You’ve been trying to prove that your circumstances haven’t affected your ability to succeed. But they have affected you. That doesn’t make your work less valuable.” Kai’s fingers tightened around his pen. “What if they think I can’t handle it?” “Then let them evaluate the evidence. Don’t evaluate yourself on their behalf.” Kai looked up. Adrian’s voice softened. “You don’t have to make yourself appear invincible to deserve support.” The words settled between them. Kai had heard similar things from his family, Ethan, and Professor Miller. But hearing them from Adrian felt different. Perhaps because Adrian understood what it meant to be judged by what a person could carry. Perhaps because he was also struggling beneath expectations that allowed no visible weakness. “Your board is judging you too,” Kai said. “Yes.” “What if they decide you’re wrong?” “Then I’ll respond to their concerns.” “And if they remove you?” Adrian held his gaze. “Then I’ll decide what to do next.” Kai frowned. “That sounds very calm.” “It isn’t.” The admission was quiet. Honest. Kai’s chest tightened. Adrian looked away briefly before returning his attention to the screen. “I’m worried about what happens if the proposal fails. I’m worried about the people who depend on the company. I’m worried that one wrong decision will be used to define every decision I’ve made.” Kai lowered his pen. “Then you’re allowed to be worried.” Adrian gave a faint smile. “You’re repeating my advice.” “I’m improving it.” “That remains debatable.” Kai leaned back in his chair. “You don’t have to sound certain with me.” Adrian’s expression shifted. For a moment, the powerful CEO disappeared, leaving only the exhausted man who had admitted that he wished Kai were beside him. “I know,” Adrian said. The silence that followed felt intimate despite the distance. Kai looked at the time. “You should sleep.” “So should you.” “I have questions to review.” “You’ve reviewed them three times.” “Four.” Adrian’s mouth curved. “Then review them once more and sleep.” Kai narrowed his eyes. “You’re giving me instructions now?” “I’m making a suggestion.” “Your suggestions sound like orders.” “Your refusals sound like invitations to continue.” Kai laughed quietly. Then he looked down at his documents again. “Adrian?” “Yes?” “If the scholarship office asks whether I can manage everything, what should I say?” Adrian didn’t answer immediately. Then he said, “Say that you’re building a system that allows you to continue without pretending you don’t need support.” Kai stared at him. “That’s a very CEO answer.” “It’s a practical answer.” “It’s annoyingly good.” “I’ll add it to my achievements.” Kai smiled, but the smile faded when he thought about the meeting. “What if I fail?” Adrian’s gaze remained steady. “Then we face what comes after.” We. The word was never dramatic when Adrian said it. He didn’t use it as a promise to solve Kai’s life. He used it as a reminder that fear did not automatically mean abandonment. Kai lowered his eyes. “Thank you.” Adrian’s voice softened. “You don’t have to thank me for staying.” Kai’s heart gave a painful, unexpected beat. He looked at the screen again. “Good night, Adrian.” “Good night, Kai.” Neither ended the call immediately. Eventually, Kai reached for the button. Before he could press it, Adrian spoke. “Kai.” “Yes?” “Go into the meeting tomorrow as someone asking to be understood, not someone begging to be forgiven.” Kai remained silent. Then he nodded. “I’ll try.” “That’s enough.” The call ended. Kai sat alone at the table, surrounded by papers and unfinished calculations. Tomorrow would not be easy. The scholarship might still be suspended. The hospital payment still needed to be arranged. His family’s circumstances had not changed simply because he had learned to ask for help. But he no longer felt as though every difficulty had to be faced with his hands clenched shut. He gathered the documents into one folder. Then he wrote a final sentence at the bottom of his preparation page: I am not asking them to ignore my circumstances. I am asking them to consider what I have done despite them. Kai read the sentence once. Then he closed the notebook. For tonight, it was enough.

The Cost of Asking