Sick Games, Rich Payback

My parents and my younger sister, Mable Munroe, are diagnosed with severe illnesses one after another. As I stare at the astronomical sum of medical bills, I can only grit my teeth and deal with them by taking on ten part-time jobs in one go.

After stirring awake from collapse caused by exhaustion, I realize that I can hear the thoughts of everyone around me.

My mom, who's too busy coughing up blood, has something else going on in her mind.

"This low-quality fake blood really is disgusting! Why isn't that stupid brat giving us her salary of the day? I need the money to buy new bags!"

My dad, who's already crippled from his disease, thinks, "I'm about to get cramps from all the cripple-faking I have to do! Once Talia clears my debt, I'm going to get myself a nice proper massage for a few days straight!"

Meanwhile, the weakened Mable has already cooked up a plot in her mind.

"Hurry up and tell that broke boyfriend of mine to stay awake from me! I want Talia to break up with him on my behalf! That way, I'll be able to reel in my next boyfriend without any guilt!"

As I stare at my family, I choose to not expose their lies. Instead, I retrieve all the money that I've planned on paying their "medical bills" with.

Later on, I track down Mable's boyfriend, Kyle Hargrove. There, I can hear his thoughts echoing loudly in my mind.

"Did Mable get her sister to send the message that she wants to dump me? I'll have her know that I'm the only son of the richest man in town! Mable and that family of hers shall live in regret for the rest of their lives!"

A bold thought pops into my mind all of a sudden. I twist my ankle on the spot and use the opportunity to collapse right into Kyle's arms.

The world spun around me for a moment. I calculated the angle perfectly and let myself flop gently toward Kyle Hargrove.

"Oops…"

I let out a quiet exclamation as my entire body landed squarely in his arms, my forehead pressing right against the hollow of his neck.

A sharp, pleasant scent instantly enveloped me—not the sterile disinfectant of the hospital, but more like expensive cedarwood.

I sneered inwardly, but outwardly, I acted utterly frail and weak.

My hands appeared completely devoid of strength as they clung to his shoulders. But secretly, I was bracing myself, twisting and turning, making sure I couldn't stand up on my own.

While I was squirming like this, I suddenly heard a low, heavy grunt from above me.

I froze.

Wait, that wasn't right. Wasn't he… disabled?

For someone in a wheelchair, certain bodily reactions should technically be much slower, but this response…

Just as my face heated, a scorching, large hand suddenly clamped down on my waist. The grip was shockingly strong—nothing like someone who'd been sick and weak for a