"Patricia, Melton. Melton, Patricia."

  ""We've already met.""

  "...It was just in case you needed a refresher."

  ""So why is he (she) here?"" The question alone caused Elisabeth to rub her temples. It's a good question she hadn't an answer for.

  "Patricia!"

  The guard’s head snapped around at her boss’ command.

  "What do you think about Mr. Officer?"

  "...What's up with this all of a sudden?"

  A whisper of "Just play along..!" slipped through between gritted teeth.

  "Well, uh... You're bad at your job?"

  "Thanks?"

  Elisabeth was in such disbelief she couldn't help but facepalm. It was physically impossible to get any more awkward than this. A lesser person would've sighed out loud at the sheer lack of conversational ability. But he spoke just fine when they were alone together though?

  Today's visitation involved a large couch made of the same material as the walls for all of them to sit together on. Melton thought it would’ve been hard, but it was as soft as any other couch; he’d have to shake the hands of the person who made all of this.

  His voice cut through the silence to start the conversation. "Sorry about the other time."

  "It's fine. Though it's not everyday I lost that handily."

  "Were you ever formally trained?"

  Patricia’s massive body sunk into the couch as she answered, "The streets taught me everything I knew before coming here. It's nice and quiet here, I like it. If all I have to do is stand and look scary, I'd say it's a better job than when I was in the streets, fighting to have enough to eat for another day."

  "...You're good for an amateur. Compared to Zeke, I've still got a ways to go."

  "Zeke? That Zeke? The one from the special unit division of the empire?" Patricia straightened up from the surprise.

  "Yeah, he's my older brother. I doubt I could come away with a win if we fought."

  Eyes hidden between brown bangs narrowed. "Being able to say that in of itself is a rather ridiculous boast, you know?"

  "For the background I came from, it's still not enough."

  "Not enough means room to improve. There's a lot worse than 'not enough'."

  "It's why I practice every day."

  "That's more than some people I know can say. Officer, can I ask you a question?"

  "Fire away."

  "Why do you keep comparing yourself to your brother? To anybody else, you're the gold standard. Your brother just happens to be an exception, not the rule. Comparison is the thief of all joy, and you don't look joyful despite your relative success."

  Melton almost shot back a retort, but Patricia cut into his turn.

  "Mr. Officer, when people meet you for the first time, they look at you, the person in front of them. Not your brother, or any one of your other peers. They judge you based on what they see and know. Until you bring him up, no one's going to know that you're Zeke's brother, much less compare you to him."

  His jaw opened again, but the words fizzled at the tip of his tongue as Patricia continued to rant.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Not everybody you meet and help cares that you're his brother and aren't as good as him. All that mattered to them was that you were kind enough to extend your hand outward to help them, and that makes you the best in their eyes, even if it was just for a moment.

  But it ultimately doesn't matter if you don't believe a single word of gratitude or thanks that you hear from other people. Yours and others' perception of yourself combined defines who you ultimately are. Even if they say you're the greatest thing since sliced bread, you will still claim yourself normal; 'I'm not that special.' and it will stay that way if you can't look at yourself and say the same thing. Stare into a mirror and recognize your own reflection; Your strengths, weaknesses, embarrassing lowlights to the greatest triumphs. The open secrets to the deepest darkest pits of memory that can never resurface. Because in the end, the perspective that you have of yourself is ultimately what matters most. Nothing else can change until you've taken a good look at yourself and accepted it all."

  “I c-can't look, big bro Zeke! It's too high up! I'm scared!”

  “Melton, if you keep telling yourself ‘I'm scared’, you will always be scared.

  Say it with me: ‘I'm a brave boy. Heights are nothing to me.’ ”

  The young child on the final rung of the ladder, eyes squinted, began to chant.

  “I’m a brave b-boy. H-heights are nothing to me. I'm a brave boy. H-heights are nothing to me. I'm a brave b-boy. Heights are nothing to me---!”

  And he opened his eyes, seated beside Zeke on a shingle.

  “Look, isn't the scenery from the roof beautiful?”

  Whoah...

  “Melton. Being just scared gets you nowhere. Knowing and recognizing you're scared is one thing. But if you can take that first step to climb the first rung, or open your eyes for the first time, in spite of what you fear, you can do anything. That's what they mean by courage; it's doing something despite your fears. You were so scared to sneak out onto the roof an hour ago, now look at you! You're enjoying the view and the wind with your big brother.”

  The young child stared back at his brother, eyes wide in admiration as he's met with a smile only a brother could show.

  "You think you can go back down?"

  To his eyes, the ladder chute never ended. He climbed this far? His eyes tried to grasp where the bottom of the ladder truly laid, but all he saw was endless black. Fear gripped his heart and squeezed it with all its might as his petite body trembled at the thought of simply having to go back down again.

  "I-I can't..."

  "Haha! You've got a long way to go to be a courageous man then, Melton!"

  “Whoa, you’re really verbose. Who would’ve thought.”

  Her large hand bashfully scratched the back of her head, “I jumped at the chance to read all kinds of literature ever since I left the slums and the backstreets behind.”

  "...Thanks for the help. I mean it."

  "In return, could you give me a few pointers? Your input would be most welcome."

  "No problem, what are you working on?"

  Patricia groaned and stretched as she stood up, ready for any criticism as Melton followed behind.

  It's great that Melton gets along with Patricia well, but I'd appreciate it if they didn't pretend I don't exist... A small murmur escaped Elisabeth's breath, having slunk into the far corner of the couch.

  To take the first step, I had to first convince myself of my worth. I've chanted 'You're a good person' in my head countless times, said it to the mirror every morning before I brushed my teeth, and I think it's starting to stick. I hope, at least.

  A good deed a day. It's a task for you. An Elisabeth special directive.

  So as the cover says?

  Exactly as it says. You've got all the other bits and pieces working. All that has to happen is for the biggest, most important gear to start turning.

  Yesterday I helped Johnathan with his paperwork. I got a nice note today from him as thanks.

  Two days ago, I paid for a man who forgot his wallet at my lunch spot. Today, a letter came in addressed to the building with money for a plate of carbonara.

  A teenager handed me a basket of fruit yesterday. I asked him about it and he said that it was thanks for teaching him how to climb a tree a month back. He said his family didn't own any fruit trees, but he lived next to a plantation. Naughty kid.

  It's starting to really click for me. I looked into the mirror one morning and for once, I didn't look tired or exhausted or sad and gloomy, like I usually did. A neutral expression hung on my face. I wasn't ecstatic all the time or anything, but I no longer looked resigned every time I looked into a mirror. Comparing it to the photo I took 2 weeks ago, it really is night and day. That fella in the picture sure looks awfully glum.

  Sometimes I hear about Zeke in conversations and my gut still drops for a second. Sometimes the memories come flooding in, and it sucks, but I find myself snapping out of it faster than before. I don't yet think I can face my father. I still fear the resounding 'no' that would void all my efforts up to this point.

  But the fear doesn’t feel as intense as it used to be. I see myself under Mom’s corpse less, and I hear Father’s voice less. People have said much about me, and it doesn’t feel too awkward when I look them in the eyes nowadays.

  I think I can tell her now. The festival is tomorrow. Even if it doesn't work out, I'm prepared.

  Probably. I'm probably prepared.

  But that's enough, isn't it?