Zhang Wei had once dreamed of being something great.
A hero, maybe. A game developer. A pro gamer at worst.
Now, at 22, he was something else entirely:
A NEET, overweight, unemployed, and proud owner of a room that smelled like instant noodles, sweat, and failure.
Clothes were everywhere — moldy plates, empty soda cans, manga volumes with torn covers. A cockroach dashed across the floor like it owned the place. Zhang didn't even flinch.
He was too busy watching anime for the fifth time — one hand in a bag of chips, the other lazily scrolling through his phone. His favorite character had just died again, and all he could think was: "Damn, I wish I had powers too."
Then came the knock. Loud. Angry. Final.
It was his parents.
They didn't yell this time. No begging, no guilt-tripping. Just one sentence:
"Get out."
Zhang blinked. "Huh?"
"We've had enough," his father said, voice hollow. "You've wasted enough time. You're 22. You're not even trying. You don't pay rent. You don't work. You don't shower. Just ...
Leave."
His mother stood behind, silent. Crying, but not stopping it.
He laughed, awkwardly. "C'mon, guys. Is this another 'tough love' thing?"
But the door slammed shut behind him.
Minutes later, he stood outside, bags barely zipped, stomach grumbling. He felt like a joke. Like garbage left on the sidewalk.
He didn't notice the truck.
One honk.
One scream.
One second too late.
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