In the lift, a young man leaned against the wall, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited for it to reach the 16th floor.
With a ding, the doors slid open. He stepped out unhurriedly and walked down the corridor until he reached room 361. Unlocking the door, he called out,
"I'm back, Mom."
As he spoke, he slipped off his shoes and unshouldered the bag he had carried all day, placing it carefully on the nearby table.
From inside, a warm voice answered, "Oh, Anthony, you're back. Quite early today."
"Today was the test, remember? You forgot already?" he said, setting himself on the sofa.
"Ah, right, right. How was it?" the voice asked again, footsteps drawing closer.
Anthony looked up as a woman entered the room. She appeared to be in her early thirties, graceful and gentle in demeanor, with the soft presence of someone who carried both beauty and kindness. This was Amelia—his mother. She walked toward the kitchen as she spoke, her eyes still on him.
"It wasn't bad. Actually… it was kind of good," Anthony replied.
Amelia's brow furrowed for just a moment before she returned to her usual calm. She placed a hand gently on his head.
"Anthony, when will you start taking your tests seriously? Every time I ask, you give me the same answer, but the results always tell another story."
Anthony straightened, quick to defend himself. "Not this time. You've seen how hard I've been working lately. I'm confident. The results will be better than before—I've really made some improvements."
"That's what you always say, young man. It's always the same. This time won't be any different—the results will turn out the same, if not worse."
The voice came from behind, and out stepped a man in his thirties, bearing a strong resemblance to Anthony. It was his father, Marcus.
He walked into the hall, sat down opposite Anthony, and fixed him with a hard stare. That look alone was enough to make Anthony shiver.
He knew his father well—Marcus was strict, especially when it came to academics.
"When will you take your studies seriously, son?" Marcus said, his voice heavy with frustration. "Look at your uncle Gupta's son, Bhupesh. He's in the same school, the same class as you—and he always ranks in the top ten of the class, top fifty in the whole grade. And you? You're always stuck between 150 and 180."
His voice grew sharper. "And then your uncle flaunts it at his office, even though his position is lower than mine. It's infuriating!" Marcus clenched his fists, letting out a frustrated sigh.
Anthony pressed his lips together, unable to respond. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his father's disappointment weighing on him just as it had so many times before.
After a long silence, Marcus exhaled, beginning to calm down. But then he caught Amelia's eyes—his wife's glare was fierce, cutting like a blade. She slid her hand slowly across her throat in warning, and Marcus gulped. He understood perfectly: one more harsh word, and he'd regret it.
His tone softened immediately. "Anthony… your father is sorry for speaking so harshly. It's okay, as long as you're working hard. And I have seen it these past few months—you've been more focused on your studies than ever before. That makes me proud. Keep at it, son. If you continue, I know you'll make me even prouder."
Anthony lifted his head quickly and looked at his father.
"There's no need to apologize, Father. I know my current efforts aren't enough to achieve great results. But I'll work harder. I'll make you proud," he said, his voice serious and resolute.
Amelia, sitting beside him, stroked his hair gently. "That's the spirit, son. But don't overwork yourself. Go to your room and rest—I'll prepare some snacks for you."
"Yes, Mom," Anthony nodded, then stood and left. Moments later, the sound of a door opening and closing echoed faintly through the apartment.
Only then did Amelia turn to Marcus. Her voice was low, but it carried a sharp authority, the kind that cut straight through the air.
"Do you really have to be that harsh with him? He's already working hard. Speaking to him like that only makes him feel worse. He's just sixteen, Marcus. Do you have to put so much pressure on him? Can't you see how much effort he's giving already?"
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's not like that… I just—just lost my temper for a moment. But hey, my words weren't that harsh, right?"
His attempt at defense was feeble. His shoulders hunched, his head sank down, and he resembled more of a turtle retreating into its shell than the strict father from a moment ago.
And so, a small argument broke out—though it was less of a battle and more of Marcus being utterly crushed beneath Amelia's commanding presence, like a subject before an empress.
Meanwhile, in his room, the sixteen-year-old Anthony—fairly handsome, with a youthful sharpness to his features—was oblivious to his parents' clash outside. Fresh from his bath and dressed in clean clothes, he lay on his bed, his mind drifting back to the earlier conversation.
He let out a sigh.
"If only I had some kind of system… some cheat ability. How good would that be?"
He rolled onto his side, muttering to himself.
"A login system would be the best… no, no. An infinite money system would be even better. That way, I'd never have to worry about anything again… Though it's not like I worry about money or anything, and while it is good to have as much of it as I can, that's not something my parents are asking of me—at least not for now."
"But that's just my fantasy," Anthony muttered to himself. "It's no solution to my real problem—the one that keeps disappointing Father… and even Mother."
He clenched his fists lightly. If only I had real talent… then none of this would be an issue.
"Heavens, just give me something—anything—that could make me smarter. That's all I want. The rest, I'll handle myself. I'll work for it. I'll do everything else." His voice was low, almost a plea, as he turned his eyes toward the window where the sun was sinking beneath the horizon.
He knew it was nothing but wishful thinking. Call it fantasy, call it dreaming—but wasn't everyone allowed to dream? It was the only way he could escape reality for a while.