SORRY?!

Zhao Wei heaved a long, exhausted sigh, his head tilting back against the stiff hospital pillow as he turned his gaze toward the window.

Outside, the world moved on as if nothing had happened.

People strolled in and out of the hospital entrance, some chatting, some carrying bouquets of flowers or bags of food, others walking alone, lost in their own thoughts.

It was so normal.

And yet, here he was, trapped in a body that wasn't his, dealing with a family he didn't know and a life he never fucking asked for.

His fingers clenched around the thin blanket covering his lap.

This wasn't something he signed up for.

The silence in the room stretched too long, thick and suffocating.

The doctor—who still sat across from him, arms loosely crossed—must have noticed, because after a moment, he cleared his throat and stood up.

"We'll give him some time to rest," the doctor announced, turning to the woman—his supposed mother—and the man who was apparently his uncle, not his father. "He just woke up, and it's best not to overwhelm him."

His mother looked like she wanted to protest, her lips parting, but the doctor was already motioning toward the door.

"Let him breathe," he added, his tone firm.

His uncle—who hadn't said much since dropping that little bombshell—gave his shoulder a small reassuring squeeze before following the doctor out. His mother hesitated for a second before eventually trailing behind them, though her reluctance was obvious.

The door shut with a soft click.

And just like that, Zhao was alone.

But not for long, though.

The doctor returned a few minutes later, this time without the other two.

"I'll need to do a quick physical check-up," he said as he pulled on a pair of gloves.

Zhao didn't reply.

He didn't really have anything to say.

The doctor didn't seem to mind. He went about his work in silence, which was fine by Zhao, because he had no intention of breaking it either.

First, the doctor checked his pupils, shining a blindingly bright flashlight into his eyes.

Zhao winced, squinting against the harsh light.

"Tracking seems normal," the doctor muttered under his breath, switching to the other eye. "No delayed response."

Then came the reflex tests.

A light tap to his knee, then his elbow.

Zhao barely reacted.

Everything felt strange, like he wasn't fully connected to the body he was in.

The doctor hummed, scribbling something onto a clipboard.

Then he pressed two fingers against Zhao's wrist, checking his pulse.

Steady. A little weak, but nothing abnormal.

"Can you lift your arms?" the doctor asked, stepping back slightly.

Zhao begrudgingly obeyed, raising them as best as he could. They felt heavy, weaker than they should have been. Like he had been drained of all energy.

The doctor watched closely.

"Alright. Try gripping my hand," he instructed, extending a hand toward him.

Zhao grabbed it, squeezing.

The doctor nodded in approval.

"Strength is improving," he murmured. "That's a good sign."

Zhao wasn't sure what counted as a good sign when he was in someone else's damn body, but whatever.

The check-up continued in that same quiet manner, the doctor occasionally asking him to move certain limbs, checking for any lingering injuries, before finally stepping back with a satisfied nod.

"You're recovering well," he concluded, stripping off his gloves. "For someone who survived a fall like that, it's honestly impressive."

Zhao let out a noncommittal grunt, shifting slightly on the bed.

The doctor hesitated for a moment before placing a hand on the rail beside him. "Get some rest, alright? Your body needs it."

Zhao didn't respond, and after a few seconds, the doctor left the room.

Heaving out another sigh, Zhao leaned his head back against the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

No one had mentioned anything about his former body.

Maybe they didn't want to guilt Yihan with the idea that some bulky, older dude died saving him.

A humorless laugh escaped his lips.

So this was his life now.

This was what he got for playing hero.

He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to process it all.

Then—

A soft ding.echoed through the room.

His eyes snapped open.

A floating screen hovered in the air in front of him, its blue light illuminating the darkened room.

The words on it were simple.

[I'm sorry.]

Zhao's entire body tensed.

A slow, burning anger curled in his gut.

Sorry?

SORRY?!

He grabbed the nearest object—his hospital pillow—and threw it as hard as he could at the screen.

It flew right through the translucent projection and slammed against the heart monitor behind it.

The soft beeping of the machine didn't even stutter.

But Zhao's breathing did.

His fists clenched.

Selfish bastard!

He covered his face with his hands, letting out a shaky breath.

After everything.

After finally getting a job. After finally thinking his life was starting to look up.

He had to lose it all because of some random-ass kid.

Fuck!

If he hadn't tried to save the kid, then right now, he would probably be sitting in his new office, drinking coffee, doing his job.

Instead, he was here.

In a body that wasn't his.

A life he never chose.

And now he had to be Yihan.

Not by choice.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he had no other damn option.

And the bastard had the fucking audacity to tell him sorry?!

Fucking ridiculous.