On the fourth day, my body started feeling lighter.

  Dad came in that afternoon carrying a bowl of porridge still steaming.

  "Want to eat?"

  I looked at it for a moment. "Did Dad cook this himself?"

  "Mama cooked it." He placed the bowl on the small table, then sat in the chair near my bed. "Dad was just told to deliver."

  "Oh."

  I sat up slowly. My head didn't spin this time, better than this morning. I took the spoon and started eating.

  Chicken porridge. Hot, savory, with thin slices of green onion. Exactly like what Mom makes.

  After a few spoonfuls, I looked up.

  Dad sat beside me. Not with his own plate, but leaning slightly toward me, his spoon occasionally entering my plate without permission.

  At first just a little.

  Then a little more.

  I glanced at my bowl's contents.

  Somehow it seemed to decrease really fast.

  "Dad..."

  "Hm?" He was still chewing casually.

  I watched his spoon sneaking back into my plate.

  "Actually... who's eating... Dad or me?"

  Dad stopped briefly, then looked at the plate as if just realizing something.

  "We're sharing," he said lightly.

  "That's not sharing. That's Dad taking."

  He chuckled quietly.

  His spoon moved again, slowly, like a thief confident he won't get caught.

  I stared at him.

  The spoon tip had almost touched the bowl when my hand moved first.

  I caught his wrist.

  "Dad..."

  "Hm? Does Sera want to be spoon-fed?"

  I shook my head.

  Actually, there's something else I wanted to say, but I abandoned the intention. I scooped again, giving myself a few seconds to think.

  "Dad forgot something."

  He frowned. "Forgot what?"

  I stared at him for a few seconds. "That thing from yesterday."

  "Which one?"

  "The one with little people inside."

  "Oh... TV," he said quietly, finally connecting.

  So it's also called TV in this world.

  "Yeah, that!" I nodded. "Dad said we'll talk about it at home later. But it's been months."

  Dad stopped chewing. His eyes moved up, staring at the ceiling for quite a while until his forehead wrinkled deeply.

  Then he winced slightly, as if just finding a dusty memory in the corner of his head.

  "Papa... forgot."

  "Yeah." I returned to my porridge. "I also forgot. But now I remember again."

  I looked at him again, this time with a sparkle I deliberately made slightly dimmer.

  "Now I can't read books. So... can Dad install that now? So I have entertainment." I tilted my head slightly. "Does Dad... not want to?"

  "..."

  Dad looked at me for a long time, then turned his face away.

  But... the corner of his lips lifted.

  Success!

  It didn't take long for Dad to prove his words.

  An hour later, the sound of a small electric drill buzzed in the corner of the room.

  Dad was perched on top of a folding ladder, installing an iron bracket on the wall. On the floor, a fairly thin rectangular black box, the thing I called the picture box, lay waiting its turn.

  Seems like it was taken from Dad's office.

  "Is Dad sure?" I whispered, making sure Mom didn't hear from the kitchen.

  Dad turned, glancing at the slightly open door, then winked one eye. "Relax. Dad's already prepared if Mama protests."

  Right then, footsteps were heard approaching from the bathroom direction. The aroma of fresh soap wafted into the air, mixed with the clean scent of shampoo.

  Mom's hair was still slightly wet, some strands stuck to her cheeks and neck. She stood at the doorway with arms folded across her chest. Her eyes narrowed, looking back and forth between Dad, the drill, and the black screen on the floor.

  "Honey," Mom's voice low, warning tone. "We just confiscated all her books because she wasn't sleeping. Now you're bringing something that can make her stay up till morning?"

  Dad cleared his throat, trying to still look authoritative despite holding a screwdriver.

  "Honey, this is different. Sera has to be on complete bedrest for three more days. She'll be bored just staring at the bedroom ceiling. At least with TV, she can watch news or educational programs without having to rack her brain reading."

  "And her eyes?" Mom stepped in, inspecting the cables. "Same thing, right? Screen light isn't good for someone with fever."

  "Only two hours a day. Afternoon only." Dad quickly offered negotiation. "After that, you keep the remote. How about that?"

  Mom was silent briefly. I held my breath, trying to put on the palest face possible. The face of 'a sick child who needs worldly entertainment'.

  "One hour," Mom cut sharply.

  I stayed still, looking at her. Behind her authoritative tone, her eyes still held remnants of worry.

  "Only for news or general knowledge channels. If I see her watching drama or weird cartoons, the TV will follow the books to storage. Permanently."

  "Deal," Dad answered quickly before Mom changed her mind.

  I sighed in relief, but tried not to show my excitement too much.

  Watching Dad install that TV with full concentration, I started wondering. Before, I thought Dad didn't put a TV in the house for a special reason. But seeing how skilled he was installing those cables, it seems like the real reason is far simpler.

  Mom just didn't want me to lose focus.

  For Mom, entertainment is a reward for those who are disciplined. And right now, I'm getting that 'reward' through emergency channels.

  That night, after dinner and taking medicine that left a grape taste on my tongue, I turned on the TV for the first time.

  The remote was small and light. I pressed the red button carefully. The screen lit up, emitting blue light that filled the room's darkness.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Outside world, you finally came too.

  I started looking for news channels. Wanted to know the current situation, about conflicts with Elves, about anything that could give clues about this world.

  But my finger on the remote stopped.

  On one channel, there was animation.

  The visual quality caught my eye instantly.

  Two characters fighting on top of a skyscraper. One controlling fire, his fist exploding when landing on the opponent's face. The other disappearing and reappearing, a black shadow moving too fast to follow.

  The camera moved dynamically, following every punch, every kick, every elemental explosion that destroyed the building behind them.

  My eyes were glued. The dizziness in my head seemed defeated by adrenaline that suddenly pumped.

  Whoosh.

  The shadow character dodged a fireball with a backflip, then kicked his opponent from the side. The fire character was thrown back. But before falling, he raised his hand and the ground beneath the opponent's feet suddenly spurted lava.

  Damn, so cool. I held my breath, didn't dare blink.

  Explosion.

  The shadow character jumped into the air, avoiding lava, then from his palms came black chains wrapping the fire character's body. But the fire character just laughed. His body melted into lava, chains broke, and he reappeared behind the opponent with a glowing fist.

  I couldn't look away.

  The visuals were insane. Smooth animation. Fighting techniques made sense but spectacular. This isn't a kids' cartoon with rubber punches and star explosions. This... this is high-level shonen.

  Like anime, but with more realistic elemental touches. Even the characters looked like real humans turned into cartoons.

  Their fight slowed down.

  Movements that were wild before now turned into deadly precision, both aware the next second would be decisive.

  The fire character took a long breath. The fire around him no longer spread wildly. Everything gathered, condensed, changed color to bluish white.

  The shadow character bowed. The shadow on the ground grew, swallowing rubble, spreading like living ink that pulsed.

  The sky above them trembled.

  Soundtrack stopped.

  Silence.

  They were about to unleash their ultimate moves.

  I even held my breath.

  The fire character shouted, "THIS IS FOR YOU! THE TECHNIQUE I'VE PREPARED SPECIALLY..."

  His white fire left burning trails in the air.

  The shadow character clasped both hands like forming a seal, then murmured, "Nightfall."

  The screen suddenly changed.

  "The next commercial is brought to you by..."

  A soda drink logo filled the screen.

  I froze.

  "What?!"

  Cut off just like that.

  "Refresh your day with Spark Cola!"

  I almost threw the remote. My enthusiasm free-fell, crashing into the bitter reality that capitalism still exists.

  They were just about to unleash their ultimate moves. Fire aura forming a giant circle in the sky. Shadow beneath them expanding like a bottomless pit.

  And they cut it there?!

  "Seriously?! Right there?!" I nearly choked.

  The commercial ran without guilt.

  I gritted my teeth, waiting impatiently until the small countdown in the corner of the screen finished. I just realized my hand had been clenched tight on the blanket. Unconsciously, I was tense throughout the scene.

  "Is there premium to skip ads?" I mumbled to myself.

  The next commercial immediately started.

  And in that commercial, information entered without me asking.

  A boy, around fourteen years old, sitting in a living room. His parents beside him. A warm narrator's voice flowed.

  "Age fifteen is the determining age. That's when the Awakening Injection works, opening every child's hidden talent. Make sure your child is ready to welcome the most important moment in their life. Use Vitakid Supplement, for optimal growth before Awakening!"

  The kid in the ad smiled.

  Behind him, light effects glowed. Fire on one side, water on the other. Symbols of elements, and beside them, an irregular spiral emblem representing chaos.

  "Awakening?" I stared at the screen. "Injection?"

  The ad changed. Snack food commercial.

  But my mind was already left behind in the previous ad.

  Age fifteen. Injection.

  Meaning... talent has to be awakened with injection? Not by eating Sea Fruit? Is injection more efficient than eating fruit directly? Or has the Sea Fruit actually been destroyed by the Elf race because humans lost the war?

  I furrowed my brow.

  So that's how it works here. Not suddenly eating fruit freely at any age. There's a process. There's a time.

  I wanted to look for news channels again. Look for more information. But the remote in my hand never lifted.

  Because on screen, the fight was still ongoing.

  White light filled the screen. A massive explosion struck, more than just sound. This was a collision of two worlds. Screen shook. Sound shattered. Buildings collapsed. Ground split.

  Thick smoke covered everything.

  When it slowly faded...

  Both were visible.

  The fire character knelt in a gaping black crater. Half his clothes burned. His skin full of burn wounds. Fire around him only remnants of embers.

  The shadow character a few meters ahead, his body cracked like dark glass about to shatter. One arm hanging weak, his shadow no longer stable.

  They were sprawled.

  Almost falling.

  But still standing.

  Their gazes still locked on each other.

  No one collapsed.

  Wind blew gently through the city ruins.

  Then...

  Sound of footsteps.

  That footstep sound wasn't alone.

  From the fire character's side, two figures emerged from behind smoke. A woman with a red coat torn at the shoulder, and a large-bodied man with small flames burning in his fists. They stopped beside him, faces tense.

  On the other side, shadows among the debris moved. Two figures came out from darkness, their eyes faintly gleaming. One knelt beside the shadow character, supporting his body that almost collapsed.

  No one spoke.

  Just gazes.

  Small fire glowed. Shadow flowed slowly on the ground, ready if needed.

  The fire character tried to stand upright, but his knees were shaky. His companion immediately held his shoulder. The shadow character the same, cracks in his body widening every time he moved.

  They looked at each other once more, without any anger remaining, just a silent acknowledgment that today there was no winner.

  The red-coated woman stepped back, staying alert. On the other side, the shadow on the ground slowly receded, as if giving the same signal.

  One step back.

  Then one more.

  Both groups slowly withdrew, carrying their respective companions away from the black crater still emitting smoke.

  No one chased.

  No one dared.

  The camera highlighted the empty crater in the middle of the destroyed city. Wind blew again.

  Screen went dark.

  Three episodes later, I just realized the evening medicine should've been taken half an hour ago.

  I tried to blink, but my eyelids felt hot and sore, like there were grains of sand stuck. Turns out staring at a glowing screen while the body's not yet fit is a bad idea.

  My head that was calm earlier now started throbbing slowly again, in rhythm with my heartbeat.

  The clock on the wall ticked quietly.

  But Mom didn't come.

  Maybe deliberately letting me enjoy TV for the first time. Though now I'm starting to feel that one hour is a very reasonable limit for this tiny body.

  Or maybe... Mom also forgot.

  In the next episode, the villain shadow user's past was finally revealed.

  He used to be a shy kid. Quiet. Always in the corner of the room.

  No one really noticed him.

  Until Awakening day arrived.

  The shadow element chose him.

  That talent didn't seek strength or courage in him. It just landed because it found darkness that had already rooted there first.

  I fell silent.

  The screen highlighted his face half-covered in shadow, standing in the city center.

  His voice quiet when saying, "Talent only magnifies what's already inside."

  The screen slowly went dark.

  To be continued.

  Then commercials slowly appeared.

  My bedroom door opened.

  Mom entered with a small tray. Plastic measuring spoon containing red syrup. A glass of warm water beside it.

  "Time to take medicine, Sera."

  I stared at that red syrup. Then looked at Mom. Then stared at that syrup again.

  "...Medicine again, Ma?"

  Mom sat at the edge of the bed. Her hand tidied the shifted blanket edge.

  "Yes, Sweetheart. So you'll recover quickly."

  I accepted that measuring spoon. The red syrup swayed slightly. Fake grape scent wafted.

  "Ma..."

  "Hm?"

  "Why do I have to take medicine?" I tilted my head. "I already took it yesterday. Day before yesterday too. Every day. Why not just get better right away?"

  Mom smiled. The smile that usually appears when I ask something she finds cute.

  "That's what being sick means, Sera. Recovery's slow."

  "But Dad once said..." I paused, pretending to remember. "When telling a story about a hero whose leg was injured. He said there was a magical person who could heal using light. Why don't we just call that person, Ma?"

  Mom blinked.

  Then suddenly she pinched my cheek gently.

  "Ow, Ma!"

  "Why are you so funny?" she said, still holding back laughter. "So serious your face, but your thoughts go everywhere."

  I rubbed the pinched cheek. "That hurt, Ma."

  Mom seemed to just realize. Her smile subsided slightly.

  "Yes, yes. Sorry." She stroked my cheek briefly, lighter this time. "Mama's used to it. When you talk, you don't sound like a little kid."

  "I just asked," I mumbled.

  Mom let out a small sigh, then sat back upright.

  "Ahem... so, Healers aren't people you can call at will, Sera."

  "Yeah, that! Healers!"

  "You." She shook her head slowly, but this time her tone was calmer. "As if we'd call a healer just for fever."

  "Why not? So I can recover quickly."

  "Expensive."

  I furrowed my brow. "Expensive?"

  "Yes." Mom took the measuring spoon from my hand, placing it on tissue. "There are only a few Healers. Hard to find, hard to pay for. If you want to ask for help, have to pay a lot. They usually work for nobles, military, or people who can really afford to pay."

  "How much, Ma?"

  "A lot. Could buy a hundred houses like Sera's now."

  My eyes widened.

  "A hundred?!"

  What kind of amount is that! Are they robbing banks? And also, can their abilities revive the dead to be that expensive?

  "Yes." Mom nodded. "That's why healers are only called if the illness is severe. Severe wounds. Severe disease. That regular medicine can no longer heal."

  I stared at the red syrup in that measuring spoon. A hundred houses. One touch of the hand, and done. Versus this syrup that tastes like plastic grape and needs a week.

  "So if I'm normally sick, I just keep taking this medicine?"

  "Yes, Sweetheart."

  I was quiet briefly. Then looked at Mom again.

  "But we have money, right?"

  "We do. But not enough to call a healer just because of common fever. People who have healing abilities... for very serious cases, Sweetheart. Not for fever like this."

  Those words settled slowly. So even though we have money, there's still a limit. There are still levels we can't reach.

  I nodded slowly.

  Damn. Seems like I was lucky to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but turns out it's not gold.

  At least it's still silver. Still better than most people. Maybe that's what I should be grateful for. However, for the first time, I realized: even privilege has limits.

  In my previous life, I just needed to go to the hospital. Here, there are Healers. But that healing power isn't for me. Not for my small fever. It's for war wounds, for dying nobles—for those with enough gold to buy a miracle.

  I drank the given medicine. That red syrup flowed down, sweet, slightly fake, leaving a strange coating on the tongue. Same as usual.

  But in this world, there's no miraculous hand coming to save you from small problems.

  But in this world, there's no healing hand coming to save you from small problems. You still have to lie down, wait, drink this red syrup day after day, like ordinary people. Even if you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.

  A week later, my fever finally completely subsided.

  I could walk without feeling dizzy. My appetite returned. And most importantly, Mom finally returned my brown notebook.

  "But," she said while looking at me sharply, giving the final undeniable warning, "if Mom finds out you're staying up late again, all books will be permanently confiscated. Understand?"

  "Understand, Ma."