hunger

Upon hearing the girl's words, Kestrel found himself momentarily at a loss for words, overwhelmed by a silence that seemed to tighten around him.

After a few seconds of stillness, he reached out and gently patted her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "It's alright. We'll find a job—don't lose heart. Keep going."

AA sniffled, wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve before standing up again. "Thank you… You're a good person. When I heard you speak this morning, I knew you were different from the rest."

Kestrel let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Heh, in a place like this, there aren't exactly jobs suited for good people."

Perhaps it was their shared misfortune, but AA suddenly seemed to warm up to him, even offering to help.

"You haven't found a job either, right? Go inside and take a look. They're still hiring men—they haven't filled all the positions yet. You're definitely better than me; you'll get in for sure. Don't give up!"

With those words, AA straightened herself up and headed toward the subway entrance.

Watching her silhouette fade into the distance, Kestrel turned back toward the neon-lit entrance of Club 69, staring at it in stunned silence.

"…What?"

Just then, TPAL strolled up beside him, grinning slyly. "What's wrong? Thinking of giving it a shot? You got the moves for it?"

"Give your grandpa a shot! We're going home!" Kestrel barked, jumping onto TPAL's back.

Back at his apartment, Kestrel took a long, hot shower before standing in front of his window, clad in his sleepwear, gazing at the rain-soaked city shimmering in neon hues.

Everything had finally quieted down, yet his thoughts remained in turmoil.

"TPAL," he murmured, "do you think I've been looking at things the wrong way? Maybe guys like Paul don't avoid stable jobs because they don't want them—but because they simply can't get them?"

The events of the day had peeled back just a fraction of this city's dazzling, deceptive veneer, revealing a glacial abyss beneath. Perhaps no one truly wished to go insane—they were simply driven to it.

"If I want to survive… do I really have to become like them?"

"Get lost. You set me to Guardian Mode, not Supportive Big Sister Mode. I don't have to humor your existential crisis."

Kestrel no longer had the energy to argue. He was starving. He hadn't eaten since the moment he fell from the sky—an entire day and night without food.

With dwindling hope, he opened the refrigerator, searching shelf by shelf, desperate to find anything edible. But aside from a frozen slab of ice he could break off and chew, there was nothing.

"Sir, are you struggling financially? Would you like to learn about our zero-interest loans?"

"Huh?" Kestrel froze mid-crunch, glancing around. "TPAL, was that you?"

But the AI, still plugged into its charging station, remained silent.

Following the voice, Kestrel's gaze landed on his apartment's holographic TV—it was just another advertisement.

"Damn it, this data-tracking nonsense is getting out of hand. Feels like I have no privacy at all." He walked over, gnawing on the ice as he watched the screen.

At this point, he wasn't even surprised. Even in his own era, he only had to think about buying something before shopping apps bombarded him with tailored recommendations, as if they could read his mind. Now, the technology had only gotten worse.

"This one's easy to figure out," TPAL chimed in smugly. "Based on the frequency and number of job applications you've sent today, it's a simple conclusion—you're an unemployed broke-ass who's so poor he's practically wearing see-through pants."

Kestrel shot him a glare. "Would it kill you to shut up for once? I thought you weren't obligated to chat with me?"

"A moderate level of banter, casual conversation, and user-directed insults have been proven to help maintain psychological stability in high-stress environments, significantly reducing the risk of developing mental health disorders. TPAL—your ideal companion!凸(>皿<)凸"

"Shut up with the damn ads! I'm already watching one—you don't need to shove another in!" Kestrel snapped. "I'm starving, okay?! Just leave me alone!"

After silencing TPAL, Kestrel turned his attention to the so-called zero-interest loans. But his initial curiosity quickly turned into disappointment—free things in advertisements were never truly free. The loans required collateral. If one lacked assets like cybernetic enhancements, property, or vehicles, then even body parts could be used as security.

Given what he had witnessed during the day, Kestrel didn't even want to imagine what kind of "repossession" methods they would employ if someone defaulted.

"Damn… this is beyond predatory." He waved his hand, switching the holographic display to another channel—only to find another ad.

"Sir, are you struggling financially? Why not consider volunteering for medical experiments? If your flesh-to-metal ratio exceeds 20%, you qualify for our high-reward clinical trials, including cybernetic implant tests and pharmaceutical research! Compensation up to 15 DogeCoins per session!"

Kestrel ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Why does it feel like every single one of these ads was tailor-made for me? Are you seriously telling me this damn TV doesn't have AI?"

The thought crossed his mind—should he try it?

But he dismissed it just as quickly.

"No. Not yet. I'm not that desperate. If I go down that path, I'm no different from those loan sharks' victims."

Resolving himself, he shut off the projection and staggered toward the sink, gulping down mouthfuls of water.

A new message flashed before his eyes:

"Your water card balance is insufficient. Please recharge immediately."

Kestrel froze mid-sip.

"…You've gotta be kidding me."

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, let out a long sigh, and trudged toward his bed.

At least if he slept, he wouldn't feel hungry. He could figure things out tomorrow.

But falling asleep on an empty stomach wasn't easy. He tossed and turned, unable to drift off, until exhaustion finally pulled him under.

"Son… son, wake up. Wake up!"

Kestrel's eyes fluttered open, staring in bewilderment at a ceiling so achingly familiar it left him dazed.

A broad, round face suddenly appeared in his field of vision. "Son, get up! The Spring Festival Gala is about to start, and the dumplings are ready!"

"…The Spring Festival Gala? Dumplings?" Before he could fully process what was happening, Kestrel found himself sitting in front of a television, clutching a steaming bowl of dumplings in his hands.

Then, in an instant, realization struck him like a lightning bolt. His breath caught in his throat.

Yes. That's right.

None of that insane nonsense could have been real. It had to be a dream—just some absurd nightmare!

The rich aroma of dumplings filled his nose, making his mouth water. Without hesitation, he grabbed his chopsticks, ready to dig in.

But just as he was about to take a bite, his mother suddenly walked over, looking at him apologetically. "Oh dear, I forgot—you don't like chive dumplings. Let me swap them for shrimp ones."

She reached for the bowl in his hands, but Kestrel, driven by hunger, clutched it tightly. "Mom, I like chive dumplings now. I swear, I love them!"

But no matter how hard he tried to hold on, his mother's grip was unnaturally strong. The bowl slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Mom, I love chive dumplings! I really do! Please, I'm starving—just let me eat!"

And then—

With a heavy thud, Kestrel hit the cold, hard floor.

Blinking up at the neon-lit skyline outside his window, he slowly sat up, his expression blank.

He couldn't understand. He truly, truly couldn't understand.

With technology this advanced…

Why were people still starving?