[Ugh, I feel like my head is splitting apart.]
Cain felt excruciating pain, his head felt like it was being throbbed, but it remained in the same state. Despite the pain, Cain slowly tried to open his eyes, accompanied by a throbbing pain at the side of his temple.
He saw a ceiling that was completely different from usual. His eyes, still feeling dull, couldn't open wide, and he stared at the wooden tiles covering the bright ceiling, which should have been replaced by a simple ceiling like those found in a ceramics shop.
Cain realized his body was heavy, his legs were so hard to move that he couldn't even feel anything. His hands, though twitching, were almost the same. Most noticeably, his entire body was hot, his clothes soaking up all because of the dripping sweat he had unconsciously made.
Now Cain realized he had a high fever. But when he tried to move one of his arms, it still felt so heavy. It was as if he had been tied to a bed.
A fever shouldn't feel like this for Cain; he could fight off a minor illness to keep fighting to earn another day's living for his family. But now, his situation contradicted him, Cain himself questioned whether he was truly in the same body.
"Baba…?" "Un…?" "Daddy…" "Papa."
Cain heard four distinct, yet gentle, childish voices, as if calling out to him. Unconsciously, his fingers grasped a warm, soft sensation distinct from his body temperature. Slowly, a small strength entered him, and he grasped the feeling in his fingers, finding two small hands.
"Papa…"
Although he felt weak, he could feel the tight grip of those tiny hands again. Simultaneously, he could faintly sense three other small figures beside him. Their worried gazes were palpable, especially since Cain himself knew what was happening to his body.
It was a shame Cain couldn't see all of them in his current state. Cain felt familiar with this state; sometimes when he was sick, his brothers and sisters would come to visit him in the room, weak and slumped in bed, encouraging him to get better.
Cain himself was essentially an orphan, placed in an orphanage like any other child. He grew up and was attached to the life of an orphanage, no one ever dared to adopt him because Cain himself knew the physical limitations he had experienced since the incident that befell his family.
Cain never complained about his life in the orphanage. Eventually, as he grew older, he had to work to support the needs of the orphanage. Children his age were given the choice to live their own lives, but Cain chose to help care for the other children.
Now, those memories overlapped with his present situation, but deep down, Cain knew that the small, unfamiliar figures beside him were not his brothers and sisters from the orphanage.
Still with a lingering headache, Cain finally couldn't take it anymore and tried to close his eyes again.
He considered it the most rational choice, considering he needed to rest as soon as possible. In his previous headache, he had vaguely recalled information about something, but he refused to think about it.
His plan was to recover quickly and immediately reflect on what had happened to him.
With the help of several small angelic figures, his consciousness slowly faded, and he fell back asleep.
As Cain began to drift off to sleep, a voice softly called out to him once again within the small room. The small figure, whose tiny hand had been tightly held by Cain, slowly tried to free herself and moved to grab a chair. With all her strength, she lifted it and placed it beside his bed.
She got up and tried to stand on the simple wooden chair. After wiping the sweat from her forehead, she looked at Cain, her ailing father.
Her eyes saw her father lying in pain, the heat practically filling the entire room, but the little girl paid no attention. Her gaze scanned every detail of the frail body on the bed, his wet clothes, and the same cloth pants.
Cain's breath, sometimes labored, and his facial expression, sometimes distorted with pain, were all witnessed by the little girl. As a small figure unable to do much, sadness quickly enveloped her heart, stinging her face.
A second later, the tears could no longer be held back, causing her to sob uncontrollably. Her worry for her father's well-being filled her with fear and helplessness. The other little girls, who had witnessed the figure standing on the chair, began to follow suit, one by one feeling sad like little children realizing the plight they were in. The other three, sobbing, began to approach, pressing their small bodies against the simple wooden mattress, trying to reach for their father's hand.
Crying in her chair, the little girl tried to hold back her tears, but she couldn't, ultimately slumping down. Annoyed and frustrated with herself, she grabbed the small necklace around her neck, trying to untie it, but failed.
Clutching the necklace, she patted her chest in prayer.
"Please... get well, Papa... sob."
This all started when the little girl woke up, but not to her father's voice calling.
The sun was beginning to rise, and the girls' sleeping room was filled with the childlike atmosphere their father had created. Still on their simple bed, the little girl woke up earlier than usual, while the others were still asleep beside her in various positions.
The little girl knew it was time for their father to come in and wake them. Excited, she pretended to sleep again, waiting for their father to come.
A minute, two minutes, several minutes passed. There was no sound from the door to their room.
She was the only one still awake, watching her sisters still sound asleep. The little girl got up and approached the door.
She stood for a moment, still hoping for her father's presence, even though she was already standing in front of the door. But that hope remained unanswered.
Swiftly, she grabbed the small chair their father had made for her, just enough to allow her to reach the doorknob, which was taller than her own.
The familiar creaking sound of the door reached her ears loudly. She slowly opened it, but there was no one in the hallway.
Her face was slightly anxious, confused at this hour without their father. The little girl turned to see her sisters still asleep on their simple, large bed.
Finally, she decided to step into the slightly dark hallway.
Their father had taught them to wake up early so that life could quickly fill every corner of their home.
But this time, she felt the opposite. The wooden hallway felt colder, the sunlight barely illuminating the path.
The little girl quickly made her way to the head of the household's room.
Her steps were quick, her gaze focused on the darkness and the light of a door on the other side of the hallway.
She arrived and slowly opened the door to the room, which was never locked.
She peeked her head in and looked at the large bed where her father lay, still asleep.
"Papa...?"
Approaching him step by step, her hand was about to touch his muscular arm.
It was hot.
She immediately withdrew her hand after feeling the intense heat from his skin.
She glanced at her father's pained face and asked again.
"Papa... are you sick?"
There was no answer other than the face that changed more often.
She tried hard to reach her father's forehead, as she did when one of them had a fever or was ill.
The result was the same heat. Stinging, not warm. Once again, she withdrew her hand.
"Has Papa been sick since last night...?"
Looking slightly pale, the girl finally left the room. She once again walked down the hallway looking for the kitchen.
Once there, she searched for something she considered important, trying to treat her father. She needed a wet cloth—at least that's what she learned from her father.
"A cloth... not this, not this, is this one? And water..."
She fumbled around, rummaging through the kitchen, then found what she wanted. She quickly wet it in a pot where the water was kept.
She ran back to the previous room, water dripping down the wooden floor and her little dress. Her feet were eager to reach the sick person and treat him.
With the wet cloth, the little girl folded it into a small section just the right size for his forehead. With difficulty and a slight height limitation, she finally placed the wet cloth on her father's forehead, instantly calming his expression.
Now she brought her wet hand to her mouth, still confused and hoping everything would be over soon. But her hope wasn't that easy.
Finally, she decided to return to his room and try to wake his other sisters.
Now, back when Cain had regained consciousness, their cries truly filled the room. This was the first time they felt helpless in the face of adversity.
Previously, their father had taught them and watched them play, but now they were the ones who had to watch over him.
But unbeknownst to them, the last one of them was smaller than the rest. Hugging a stuffed bear made of straw and light, sewn-together fabric, its eyes were sewn with large buttons.
The last girl stood in the doorway, leaning against it, rubbing her newly awakened eyes.
Innocently, she tilted her head, wondering what her older siblings were doing in her father's bed. Her innocent eyes were completely confused by the situation in the room.
"...?"
And with that, the five children were now in Cain's care, and now he was left to care for them, even though he was still unconscious.