I had always been in favor of the Male Act.
Yet I knew why I had to remove it.
This task was not merely a command.
It was a test—of who I had become, of how I would navigate a world built to use me.
There was another reason.
The only reason that had nothing to do with law or strategy: my mother.
The government promised that once I completed the mission, I would finally see her. Not for a fleeting moment, but for months—long enough to feel her presence, to hear her voice, to remind myself why I had survived all these years.
She had been taken from me as a child. Every memory of her—her glory, her warmth, her pain—had been fuel for the fire that shaped me. I remembered the faint scent of her perfume, floral and delicate, lingering on the sheets. The way her hand had felt in mine, firm yet comforting. These fragments of her life were all I had, and all I would risk to see again.
I thought of my mother.
Of her warmth, her laughter, her eyes that had once been the only home I had known.
This mission was my only path to her. To see her again—not for a moment, but for months. To feel her presence and remember why I had survived all these years.
The Male Act had kept me alive.
But my mother gave me a reason to live.
And for her, I would risk dismantling the very law that had protected me.
This promise weighed heavily.
It was a motivation that made the impossible task almost bearable.
I could remove the Male Act, even knowing it had kept me alive, because it offered a chance to reclaim something I had lost: a fragment of my past, a connection to my mother.
But even as I justified it, a knot twisted in my stomach.
The Male Act had protected countless males from unjust death. Anyone who killed a male without proper cause—unless the male was a mass killer or criminal—risked destroying their entire family. They would become nothing more than beggars, never to rise again.
Those who aided in the crime would share the same fate. Innocent children, however, would be spared, demoted only to ordinary citizens. They would receive five years of free housing, enough to adjust to a new life.
And yet, here I was, poised to erase all of it.
Every heartbeat rattled through me, a warning I couldn't ignore. Every shadow seemed to whisper judgment. The dawn light slanted through the blinds, indifferent to the storm raging in my mind.
Every step I took, every gesture I made, could be observed—not just by the Piao family, but by government agents or rival families. There was no room for error.
I had been awake since five in the morning, rehearsing every persona, every expression. A single slip could undo me. My hands curled into fists. My stomach churned. My chest tightened with the weight of all the lives that would change because of this.
I ran through every scenario: hidden cameras, listening devices, agents placed in plain sight. Every choice was a calculation. Every breath could betray me.
I was grateful to manage only one persona—but even that demanded constant vigilance. Remembering who I had been before this manipulation felt like dredging up a buried self, a version of me I hadn't touched in years.
I looked out at the limousine waiting for me. I could have arrived early, waited inside, and taken my time…
But Garfield had explicitly sanctioned me to arrive last.
I drew a slow breath, tasting the tension in the air, and reminded myself why I endured this: for her.
For my mother.