The old man turned slightly toward Alaric, his aged eyes full of hope as he spoke again.
"I want to convince him... to co live with again. Like before. Like the life we used to have. I want him to care for now, because my body... it’s not what it used to be. I know... he’ll probably say no," his voice softened even more, and Alaric could sense his pain.
He lowered his head, his lips moving slightly as if trying to hold back a storm of emotions.
"All of my children... they left after getting what they wanted. Even my youngest son."
"Maybe what he got from his older siblings wasn’t as much... but it was enough for him to make his own decisions. To live alone in an apartnt. To leave ho. And to leave behind."
Silence filled the corridor. No comnt ca from the lips of the wise young man.
The old man closed his eyes briefly, took a long breath, and cald himself.
His weary face reflected the weight of a life long endured
Alaric looked at him, knowing that what this man carried was not just the physical trauma of an accident, but a deep emotional wound. One that had been buried for years and was only just beginning to surface today.
The old man wiped his face with a slightly trembling hand. "Son... I once hired a caregiver, you know?" he said quietly. "At first, it was for a good reason. I just needed so help until I could get better... or at least stand on my own again."
"But... every caregiver who looked after ... they didn’t have any patience. So even yelled at . Because... I was a burden. To them, I was too heavy, too slow, too demanding... too much trouble."
Alaric listened intently. He could feel the deep disappointnt behind those words. The lingering exhaustion and heartache.
"After that... I stopped hiring caregivers. I decided... it was better to take care of myself. It’s not easy, I know that. But at least I’m free from those who don’t understand, who lose patience with my condition." The man lowered his head, staring at the floor, eyes fixed on his own shadow.
"Not all caregivers are like that. But sohow, I always ended up with the wrong ones. I tried twice... and both tis, I was let down. I always got soone who just wasn’t right... not the kind of person I hoped for. So now, I’d rather manage on my own... even if it’s difficult."
Alaric looked at him, his chest tightening. He wanted to offer help, more than just listening but he also knew he had to respect the man’s choices and boundaries.
After a mont, Alaric asked gently, "Sir... if you don’t mind asking, what’s your child’s na? Which school do they go to? Maybe I could try to reach out. Talk to them. Or at least check if they’re doing alright."
The old man took a deep breath and lowered his head even more. "No, son. There’s no need. It’s useless. It would only make them more upset with . I... I’ve accepted this. I’ve given up. I don’t want to force my way into their life or bother them any further."
How tragic. This man believed that simply checking in on his child would be a disturbance. What kind of person leaves their paralyzed father alone, directionless, in a place so unfamiliar?
Alaric fell silent. Part of him wanted to reconnect this father with his child. But the man had clearly said no. That mix of frustration and a strong urge to help spun inside his chest. He looked at the man, trying to read the expression behind his seemingly composed face.
In his heart, Alaric kept asking himself the sa questions over and over again: "What can I do? How do you help soone who doesn’t want help? What can I truly offer besides my presence, my ears, and my patience?"
He rested his chin on his hand, then glanced over at the old man. He said nothing. He simply let ti pass, letting the white clouds drift over the now-empty corridor of Westminster campus.
In his mind, he began to think through a different kind of strategy. Not for a basketball match, not for a business pitch, but a strategy of the heart. One that would allow soone to accept help without feeling forced.
Alaric’s silence wasn’t just confusion. He was analyzing, trying sincerely to understand the situation. And perhaps... he was already forming a plan.
He turned his gaze elsewhere, eyes scanning every detail of the quiet corridor. A sense of unease flowed through his thoughts. The old man looked tired, yes... but more than that, he carried an aura of resignation.
He whispered under his breath, "So what do I do now...? I want to help, but... how?"
His voice was soft, almost swallowed by the breeze that passed through the corridor that afternoon. He took a deep breath, fingers tapping the side of his bag, as if waiting for an answer from the air or the still objects around him
Suddenly, a clear sound rang in his ears.
Ding.
Like a small chi, signaling sothing important. Alaric turned his head slightly, and in front of him, floating mid-air, appeared a glowing holographic notification. It hovered silently, waiting for him to read.
[Technological assistance is possible]
[New challenge unlocked: Develop a caregiver system for the disabled]
[Progress: 20%]
[Progress capacity: Increased up to 1000%]
Alaric scanned the display, eyes darting across each line, trying to absorb the aning behind the ssage. The panel soon faded, replaced by a new one:
[Hint: Design a system that can replace human caregivers, minimizing bugs and errors]
Alaric frowned slightly. He lowered his head again, biting his bottom lip. Then glanced back at the old man, as if searching for more clues in his expression. His eyes returned to the hovering panel.
"Will this... actually work?" he murmured, doubt laced in his voice.
He fidgeted with the strap of his bag, then lightly tapped the armrest of the old wooden bench the man was sitting on. His mind still needed ti. Alaric closed his eyes briefly, letting ideas and technical schematics gather and align. A process so familiar, like when he was mapping out plays during practice.
But this ti, it wasn’t about scoring. It was about soone’s real life. He swallowed hard and lightly patted his own cheek.
Then he lowered his head again. His mouth moved slowly, and he spoke to the AI system — or maybe to himself. "If I can actually build this... if I can get it to work... maybe I can make his life just a little easier."
He paused. Thinking carefully about what his first step should be. Inside, he was building a frawork. ntally, emotionally, and technically.
His heart beat faster. This wasn’t about proving anything anymore. It was about creating sothing that could truly help, sothing he hadn’t been able to give through words alone.
And he hoped... it would work.
Alaric took a deep breath. He shut his eyes for a mont, and when he opened them again, his gaze was sharper. He knew this challenge was far more complicated than any basketball match he’d ever played. This wasn’t about tactics on a court. It was about engineering compassion into a system. A fusion of logic, emotion, and innovation.
But just as he started to feel clear, the doubt ca rushing back.
His hand hovered over the AI panel still suspended in the air, waiting for his response. Waiting for a decision he wasn’t entirely sure of. "Can I really create sothing that could replace human labor... without making a fatal mistake?" he murmured quietly.
Suddenly, the panel glowed faintly. A gentle yet firm voice echoed, as if it ca from the empty space around him:
[Failure can be fixed. Fear, on the other hand, is failure that arrives early—before anything even begins.]
Alaric straightened slightly, his fingers brushing the side of the bag resting near his feet. He closed his eyes for a mont and took a deep breath, picturing the old man he had helped earlier. His body was frail, but there had been a flicker of hope still alive in his eyes.
He realized this technology wasn’t just for one person. "It’s not just him... there are so many others who need this," Alaric thought, imagining hospitals, clinics, even ordinary hos where soone might be lying alone, needing care.
He envisioned a robotic system capable of watching over patients around the clock. Providing consistent care without pause, without exhaustion, and without complaint. These robots didn’t need sleep, food, water, or bathroom breaks. They didn’t ask for ti off, didn’t get offended or overwheld. They had only one purpose: to ensure the safety and comfort of the patient.
Alaric looked out at the now-quiet terrace, considering the possibilities ahead. He imagined the broader community—lonely individuals, elderly people who couldn’t move on their own, children suffering from severe illnesses. Even the patients in intensive care who needed constant supervision. All of them could benefit from this.
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