Kitty did not let me begin the forty-question block.
She closed the laptop, placed the untouched lunchbox in front of me, and remained beside the desk until I ate enough to satisfy a standard she refused to explain.
"Ten bites," I said. "That is enough."
"You counted?"
"I count everything now."
The sentence removed the victory from her face.
She took the pain medicine from the hospital bag and waited until I swallowed it. Then she placed the laptop inside my desk drawer.
"This is theft."
"It is concussion management."
"You cannot confiscate my university."
"Your university confiscated itself. Go to sleep."
She left after setting three alarms on my phone for medication, breakfast, and the morning lecture. Before closing the door, she looked at me as if she wanted to say something larger than good night.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You hate when I say that."
"I know."
She closed the door gently.
I waited five minutes, opened the drawer, and returned the laptop to the desk.
The forty-question block lasted until after midnight.
I scored twenty-five correct.
The screen rounded it to sixty-three percent.
I reviewed every mistake before sleeping.
Wednesday morning arrived with thunder.
The weather application promised light cloud cover. Rain struck the dormitory hard enough to erase the building across the courtyard.
At 7:40, the campus generator stopped. At 7:47, it restarted. At 7:52, the Wi-Fi disappeared while every light remained on.
Kitty's stream connected at eight through her mobile data.
"Your video is frozen," I told her.
"Your face is frozen."
"I am not sharing video."
"Then your profile picture looks judgmental."
"It is judging your connection."
The lecturer began a review of healing by primary and secondary intention. The audio broke whenever thunder reached the campus lake. Jihye sent the slides separately. NC photographed the diagrams. Anna typed the lecturer's examples into the group chat in real time.
Together, they reconstructed a class the weather kept breaking apart.
At 9:15, the stream ended.
The class was moving into the laboratory again.
My screen became black except for the words HOST HAS ENDED THE MEETING.
I waited for them to change.
They did not.
Wednesday's laboratory covered sterile wound dressing and basic suturing technique. I knew because the schedule remained visible even when the teaching materials did not. Somewhere inside the Medical Sciences Building, my classmates were opening sterile packs, practicing instrument handling, and making clumsy interrupted sutures in synthetic skin.
I had nothing to touch.
I opened the Utopia previous-year questions.
The first stem described wound dehiscence.
I read it three times without selecting an answer.
The rain became louder.
On the news panel beside the question bank, a red banner announced that Yandong International Airport had suspended most departures after the pilots' union and ground crews began a coordinated walkout. Two embassies advised citizens to expect delays. The city electrical workers released a separate statement warning that emergency repairs would continue without full staffing.
Flights stopped above the city.
The lights flickered below it.
Utopia continued its laboratory at 9:16.
I closed the question.
My contacts list offered several people who would have answered immediately.
MOM
Her name remained at the top because I had opened it the night my grandmother died. I imagined her seeing the bruises through a video call while the family was still moving through funeral obligations and unfinished grief.
She would ask whether I was eating.
She would ask whether the university could expel me.
Then she would blame herself for being too far away to repair either problem.
I moved to the next name.
DAD
He would become quiet, calculate every possible consequence, and begin making calls before I finished explaining.
I moved again.
BROTHER
He had his own work, his own responsibilities, and enough family anxiety without receiving a photograph of my face after an illegal strike and a guillotine choke.
I locked the phone.
The room remained silent for less than a minute before I unlocked it again.
I scrolled further.
CHUU
Her profile picture had not changed since the previous winter. She was holding a paper cup beside a badly decorated store mannequin, smiling as if both of them had survived an argument.
I pressed the video-call button before I could reconsider.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"If you are calling to borrow money, I have become emotionally unavailable."
Then the video cleared.
Her smile disappeared.
"What happened to your face?"
"University activity."
"Did the university activity have fists?"
"Several."
"XH."
"It was a tournament."
"That is not a more intelligent answer."
Chuu sat somewhere behind a clothing counter. Racks of shirts and jackets filled the background. A handwritten discount sign hung crookedly behind her head.
"Are you working?"
"No, I stand inside a retail store for emotional enrichment. Of course I am working."
"I can call later."
"You called me while looking like a damaged criminal. You are not escaping because a customer might need trousers."
She turned the phone toward one of her coworkers.
"I am taking my break. If anyone asks, this is a family emergency."
"We are not family," I said.
"Look at your face. Nobody would believe we share genetics."
She carried the phone into a narrow staff room and placed it against a box of folded uniforms.
"Start again."
I told her about the tournament without describing the deepfake video, June, Kitty, or the words I had repeated while choking NS. I told her the result had been a technical draw. I told her JP was in intensive care. I told her the university had suspended me pending permanent disciplinary review.
Chuu listened without interrupting.
That frightened me more than her jokes.
"When is the hearing?"
"Friday."
"Who is helping you prepare?"
"Mr. Kim. NC, Anna, Jihye. Kitty. The others too."
"Good."
"You sound surprised."
"I am surprised you allowed anyone to help."
"I didn't allow it. They formed a committee."
"That sounds like your friends."
The word reached deeper than it should have.
Chuu saw something change on my face.
"Do you remember the summer you worked at my aunt's market stall?" she asked.
"I was thirteen."
"You lasted three days."
"Your aunt fired me."
"Because a customer asked whether a yellow shirt made him look wider and you said yes."
"He asked for honesty."
"Customers never ask for honesty. They ask for permission to buy things."
"The shirt was terrible."
"You also told a woman the expensive jacket had weak stitching."
"It did."
"My aunt still talks about you as the boy who protected customers from her inventory."
I laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
Chuu smiled again.
"There. Your face still works."
"Barely."
"When we were twelve, you got into a fight with two older boys and told your mother you fell into a door."
"I did fall into a door."
"After one of them pushed you through it."
"The distinction felt unnecessary."
"You cried behind the football storage shed."
"That never happened."
"You used my sleeve as tissue."
"Fabric is absorbent."
"You have always been very brave after the dangerous part ends."
The smile left slowly this time.
Rain moved across her store window behind the clothing racks. The same storm seemed to occupy both sides of the call.
"What happens if they expel you?" she asked.
"They won't."
"That was not my question."
"I haven't decided."
"Your international pathway?"
"Probably gone. The credits may not transfer. Recommendations definitely won't."
"And housing?"
"The dorm access would end after the appeal period."
Chuu looked toward the staff-room door before lowering her voice.
"The clothing company is hiring sales representatives. The base pay is not impressive, but there is commission and staff housing. The dormitory beside mine has an empty room."
I stared at her.
"You want me to sell clothing?"
"I want you to remember that you can survive while you appeal, reapply, transfer, or decide what comes next."
"Your aunt fired me from clothing sales."
"You were thirteen. Your social skills have improved from dangerous to legally employable."
"That is generous."
"I can speak to the manager. Only if you need it."
The offer made my throat tighten more than the suspension notice had.
A job meant income.
Housing meant somewhere to sleep.
Both meant expulsion could become real enough to require them.
"I am not asking you to give up," Chuu said. "I am telling you that losing one door doesn't mean you have to sleep outside."
I looked toward the student card lying beside my laptop.
"You already planned my life after expulsion?"
"No," she said. "I kept you a spare key."
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then someone called Chuu's name from the shop floor.
"I have to go convince a customer that green is a lifestyle," she said. "Call me after the hearing."
"I will."
"And XH?"
"What?"
"Eat before you do another question block. You look like a pathology image."
The call ended before I could insult her back.
The room felt quieter afterward, but not as empty.
A photograph arrived from Chuu less than a minute later.
It showed two thirteen-year-olds behind her aunt's market stall. Chuu stood on a plastic chair holding a discount sign above her head. I stood beside a rack of shirts wearing the yellow one I had advised the customer not to buy.
Someone had placed a paper label across my chest.
WORST SALESMAN
Chuu added a message beneath it.
Chuu: You already have experience.
I saved the photograph before replying.
XH: Three days is not experience.
Chuu: It is more experience than our other applicants have.
The typing symbol appeared again.
Chuu: Win the hearing first. Spare key stays spare.
I placed the phone beside the disciplinary notice.
For the first time, I allowed myself to write down what expulsion would actually require.
APPEAL DEADLINE
TRANSFERABLE CREDITS
INTERNATIONAL PROGRAM ELIGIBILITY
TEMPORARY WORK
HOUSING
I could not write PLAN B above the list. Naming it would make it feel less like preparation and more like surrender.
The retail company's employment page loaded slowly. The sales-representative position required customer assistance, inventory checks, floor displays, and weekend shifts. The staff residence was three bus stops from Chuu's store.
It was not a terrible life.
That frightened me too.
I had spent years believing only one future could justify everything I had sacrificed. Chuu had shown me another future in less than twenty minutes, not because it was better, but because it would keep me fed and sheltered long enough to recover.
I closed the employment page without deleting it from the browser history.
Then I opened the refrigerator, heated Kitty's food, and sent her a photograph before she could ask.
XH: EATING.
Her reply arrived immediately from the laboratory.
Kitty: SHOW THE SPOON.
I placed the spoon beside the food and took another picture.
Kitty: ACCEPTED.
I reviewed thirty Anki cards while eating. When the headache returned, I stopped at thirty instead of forcing forty-three.
It was a small decision.
For that afternoon, it was the closest I came to believing I might survive either result on Friday.
At Utopia, the suturing laboratory ended at noon.
Kitty photographed her practice pad before cleaning the station. Her interrupted sutures were uneven but secure. NC's were neat. Anna had placed one too close to the wound edge. Bunny had tied a knot so tightly that the synthetic skin folded inward.
"The patient will survive," Bunny said.
"The patient is plastic," Cherry replied.
"Then my success rate is one hundred percent."
The laughter lasted until Mr. Kim entered with another hospital update.
JP remained stable. The ICU would consider allowing two student visitors the following afternoon if his neurological examinations continued improving.
"His mother is with him," Mr. Kim said. "Please give the family space."
Nobody asked whether she knew about the fourth-round promise, the towel, or the wager.
They already understood that she would.
Outside the laboratory, the airport strike notification reached every phone at once. Several international students stopped in the corridor to call their families. A lecturer learned that his evening flight had been canceled. The campus shuttle service reduced its route because replacement parts could not cross the transportation blockades.
June read the alert, then opened her messages.
NS had written from home.
NS: MY FATHER WANTS THE FULL EVENT FILE. DO NOT COME TONIGHT.
She typed a question, deleted it, and locked the screen.
At the cafeteria, Kitty collected food for XH before the remaining chicken trays emptied. June stood two places behind her and watched the lunchbox close.
"He ate?" June asked.
Kitty turned.
"Eventually."
"I want to make him something easier."
"Then make it."
The permission sounded colder than June had expected.
"I wasn't asking permission."
"Good."
Kitty left with the lunchbox beneath her arm.
June remained beside Bunny and Cherry as the cafeteria worker removed the last tray.
"Chicken broth," Bunny said. "Ginger, carrots, garlic. Not too much oil if he is still nauseated."
"Since when can you cook?" Cherry asked.
"I can watch people cook. That is almost education."
The campus market had little fresh chicken left because deliveries were delayed. June bought what remained, added vegetables, rice, and fruit, then carried everything through the rain toward the female dormitory.
That evening, she placed a pot over the small shared kitchen stove.
Thunder shook the window while the broth began to simmer.
June called her mother and balanced the phone against a jar of rice.
"How long do I leave the ginger?" she asked.
"Until the broth smells warm, not sharp. Did you crush it first?"
June looked at the whole slices floating near the surface.
"Yes."
Her mother narrowed her eyes through the video.
"Show me the pot."
June turned the camera.
"You did not crush it."
"I was going to."
"After boiling it?"
Bunny covered her mouth to hide a laugh. Cherry did not make the same effort.
June removed the ginger, pressed it beneath the flat side of a spoon, and returned it to the broth.
"Who is sick?" her mother asked.
June stirred more slowly.
"A friend from university."
"The one who likes spicy food?"
"He shouldn't eat spicy food right now. He has a concussion."
Her mother's expression changed.
"Then keep the broth light. Add rice separately so it doesn't become too heavy. Fruit if he can tolerate it. And make sure someone responsible is checking him."
Kitty's name entered June's mind before she could stop it.
"Someone is," she said.
"Good. Bring it while it is warm."
The call ended.
June divided the finished broth between two insulated containers. She packed soft rice, boiled vegetables, sliced fruit, electrolyte packets, and enough food for more than one meal.
"That is not a meal," Cherry said. "That is a recovery program."
"He isn't eating properly."
"Kitty is feeding him," Bunny said carefully.
June closed the first container harder than necessary.
"I know."
The lights went out.
For several seconds, the only illumination came from the blue gas flame beneath the pot. Rain struck the dormitory windows while girls in the hallway complained about the heat and searched for candles.
Emergency power returned to the kitchen but not the bedrooms.
June looked at NS's last message again.
MY FATHER WANTS THE FULL EVENT FILE. DO NOT COME TONIGHT.
She typed Are you safe?
NS answered several minutes later.
NS: YES. JUST ANGRY.
June: AT XH?
The typing symbol remained for a long time.
NS: AT EVERYONE.
June locked the phone without asking which person he meant most.
On the counter beside it, June opened a small card and wrote two words.
I'm sorry.
She stared at them, tore the card in half, and began again.
The second version became too long. It explained the arcade, the slap, NS, the nightclub, and every moment that could not fit honestly on one piece of paper.
She tore that one too.
On the third card, she wrote:
I'm sorry for everything. You don't have to forgive me today. Please eat while it's warm. :)
June placed the note beneath the lid of the food bag.
Tomorrow, she would carry it through the rain herself.