071, a funeral

The next morning, warm sunlight slowly filtered across the bedroom floor, dispersing the remnants of a lingering dark mist in the air. The light seemed to pierce an invisible barrier, and the sounds of the bustling city outside gradually reached Zaire's ears.

He opened his eyes groggily.

"Hiss—"

Still half-asleep, Zaire inhaled sharply, furrowing his brow as he raised his hand and pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to ease the sharp pain throbbing deep in his brain.

A few moments later, Zaire fully woke up, grimacing. He slowly sat up on the bed, crossing his legs, a puzzled expression on his face as he muttered to himself, "Did I catch a cold? I mean, with my current constitution, shouldn't I be immune to these little ailments?"

Sighing in resignation, Zaire leaped out of bed, walked quickly over to his desk, and rummaged through a pile of clutter to find an unexpired bottle of painkillers. Without bothering with water, he dry-chewed and forced the pills down.

Minutes later, as the medication took effect, the stabbing pain in Zaire's head gradually subsided, then disappeared completely.

"Phew—"

With some relief, Zaire exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He stretched his body, and after working up a slight sweat along his spine, he turned and left the bedroom.

By now, sunlight was streaming through the kitchen's glass and casting onto the living room floor. In the living room, Zaire's aunt, dressed in a black suit, was fussing with her short hair in front of a mirror. Hearing the door, she instinctively lifted her face, covered in a hydrating mask, and frowned as she saw Zaire stretching his neck.

Setting the mirror down on her lap and waving a comb in one hand, she raised her voice, "You lazy kid! Look at the time! How can you just be getting up? I was about to call you… now hurry up and wash up!"

Hearing his aunt's words, Zaire glanced at the clock in the living room and blinked with mild resignation. "Aunt, it's only nine. Even if I slept in a little longer, we wouldn't be late…"

But before he could finish his minor complaint—

Rip!

His aunt tore off her face mask, her expression turning serious as she lifted the comb and pointed it at Zaire. "Have you forgotten all the manners I taught you? This is a funeral! And it's your friend Mike's deceased brother's funeral!"

Uncharacteristically stern, his aunt wasn't letting Zaire off the hook. However, before she could start a full-blown lecture, Zaire, feeling another twinge of pain in his head, quickly raised his hands in mock surrender. "Auntie, I'm sorry! I'll go wash up right now!"

Zaire hurried into the bathroom, and five minutes later, he stood before his aunt looking refreshed, now dressed in black athletic wear. His aunt, maintaining a neutral expression, tossed her comb aside and, squinting, looked him over before rolling her eyes.

"I'll overlook the dress code because you've grown so quickly, but I can't even begin to comment on your fashion sense…"

"Fine, let's go then."

His aunt swiftly stood up from the couch. Smiling, Zaire bowed slightly, extending his elbow toward her. "My dear aunt, after you?"

Amused, she hooked her arm through his, looked up at him, and warned, "I'm telling you—behave yourself at the funeral, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am! Understood!"

---

At 2:00 p.m., in a public cemetery in Harlem, Mike's brother's funeral proceeded as scheduled. Only a few people attended: mostly friends, relatives, and neighbors from the community. Zaire and his aunt stood silently under the shade of a tree. The anguished cries of Mike's mother echoed in Zaire's ears, and he watched as Big Mouth Mike tried to comfort her, barely holding back his own grief.

Taking a deep breath, Zaire kept a solemn expression throughout. Before the ceremony, he had learned from Mike that the federal government had pressured the NYPD, FBI, and other agencies to quickly close the case. Both Mike's brother and many other missing children had been given a cold, official conclusion. Any family that accepted the humanitarian compensation automatically waived their right to pursue the truth.

With his mother's fragile mental state and the strain of financial hardship, Mike had reluctantly accepted the government's harsh terms. He was just an ordinary man from a broken family, helpless against the federal authorities.

Half an hour later, as the reverend's words concluded, attendees bid each other farewell and dispersed. Zaire and his aunt declined Mike's invitation for a family dinner, unwilling to see him push himself any further.

After saying their goodbyes, Zaire silently watched Mike's hunched silhouette as he supported his mother, letting out a soft sigh.

"Ah…"

Turning to his aunt, he asked, "Auntie… have you ever thought about leaving this place? I mean, this country."

Surprised, his aunt raised her head, her red-rimmed eyes staring intently at him. "What? Are you feeling all grown up now and ready to abandon your poor aunt?" she teased, playfully pinching his arm.

Feigning no pain, Zaire swiftly changed the topic. "Oh, come on, Auntie. It was just a question. To make up for my slip-up, how about a movie and a fancy dinner on me?"

Grinning, his aunt replied, "You said it! I didn't force you…"

Laughing, she slapped his arm playfully. "Come on, kiddo, I know the most expensive restaurant in Harlem!"

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