When Rof walked in, he found his father doing something unusual - watching television. His father rarely watched TV these days, complaining it was too noisy and meaningless. But that night, he was settled into his chair with the small screen flickering and a blanket draped across his lap.
Rof entered quietly, eyes instinctively assessing his father's health - breathing normal, complexion fine, hands steady. Good. His father glanced at him, taking note of his swollen eye, dried blood on his chin, and the unconscious way he was holding his side. He didn't say anything, just turned back to the TV. That was how they expressed love in their family - through silence.
Rof sat on the floor next to his father's chair, leaning his back against it, letting his shoulder brush against his father's knee. He stretched out his legs and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his ribs. The television was airing a local news segment about a new glass-fronted building that cost a fortune. A women in a blue jacket was speaking over footage of the building, announcing a forty-million-dollar donation from the Sterling Family Foundation to the Philadelphia Children's Medical Institute.
His father turned the volume down even further, muttering about the massive donation. Rof just nodded. They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Rof's attention drifted back to the TV, where the Sterling Family Foundation logo was displayed. But soon, his mind wandered elsewhere and he forgot about it.
The next morning, Rof told his father about the special bracket. He didn't reveal everything, just the basics - it was a different tournament, higher level, with a grand prize of fifty million dollars. His father listened silently, attentively, without interrupting - a skill he was good at.
After Rof finished, his father asked about the number of fights and the opponents. Rof replied honestly, believing his father deserved to know the truth. They discussed the tournament, and Rof's chances of winning. His father's eyes were clear that morning, which somehow made the conversation both easier and harder.
The conversation then turned to Rof's mother. His father admitted that he had been thinking about the past - about the photograph, the visits - and had even called an old friend for more information. He revealed that the study Rof was in wasn't government-run, as they had thought, but instead privately funded by an unknown research group.
"What was the research group called?" Rof asked.
"Nullpoint," his father answered.
The word hung in the air, heavy and significant. Rof didn't react outwardly, but inside, something shifted. He connected the dots - the white room, the cross on the table, Marcus's visit, Silas's eyes, Vera at the arena - and took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said, calmly. "Okay."
Rof's father asked if he knew the name. Rof denied knowing it but suspected someone else might. He stood up, reassured his father that he would win the tournament, and left. Outside, he called Vera.
"Nullpoint. Tell me you know it," Rof said when she picked up.
There was a long silence before Vera told him to get in the car. She was parked at the end of the street. Rof looked at her silhouette through the windshield, realizing she had been waiting for him even before he called. He thought about it for a moment, then walked towards the car. As he closed the door behind him, it felt like the end of a chapter.