My parents always said the world had no sympathy for the weak.

So from the moment my younger brother and I could walk, they put us through what they called the 'Strong Child Program.'

At five years old, we had to run five kilometers every day. If we could not finish, we were not allowed to eat.

At seven, my brother broke his arm. My parents refused to let the doctors use anesthesia, saying enduring pain was a lesson every strong person had to learn.

At nine, I burned with a 104℉ fever. Instead of taking me to the hospital, they wiped my body with ice water and forced me to endure it because 'sick children grow stronger immunity.'

Then, on the first day of summer vacation, my father announced this year's special training:

We were going to learn to swim in the Roaring Spine River.

No life jackets. No safety gear.

"You only learn after choking on water a few times," my father said.

But my brother choked over a hundred times and still could not swim.

I desperately swam toward him, trying to pull him back to shore, but somehow the distance between us only kept growing.

I called my father, screaming for help, begging him to call emergency services.

But after listening to me, he only snorted coldly.

"Who learns swimming without swallowing some water?

"Your brother isn't made of paper.

"Stop yelling and focus on learning to swim."

But by then, my brother had already been swept away by the current…

"Dad, Ian's really going to get swept away!"

"Please! Call emergency services! Just call them!"

He did not answer. I only heard the click of a lighter, then the sound of him taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Dylan Lancer, do you know how I learned to swim?

"When I was eight years old, I fell into a river and got dragged over a mile downstream before crawling back onto shore myself.

"Undercurrents aren't scary. What's scary is your mindset, crying for your parents the moment something goes wrong."

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

"He can't swim. He's only been learning for one day..."

"That's exactly why he needs to learn. If he can handle the current today, he'll be able to handle any hardship in life later on."

"If you save him once, you'll ruin him for the rest of his life."

"Dad!"

"Stop shouting. Calm yourself down, learn how to tread water properly, and go pull your brother back."

Then he hung up.

I floated in the river, surrounded by murky yellow water, with no idea which direction my little brother had been swept away in.

There was nobody on the shore. The only sound around me was birdsong.

My tears fell silently into the river.

That morning before we left home, Ian Lancer had still been asking me, "Dylan, what's an undercurrent? Is it like those lazy rivers at amusement parks?"

I told him no. Lazy rivers had boats. Undercurrents did not.

He had not understood. He just grinned, showing the gap where his front tooth was missing.

"Then I'm not scared. Dad said strong people aren't scared of anything."

I should never have let him into the water.

I should have stopped all of this on the very first day.

On the first day of training, Dad brought us to Roaring Spine Ferry and said coldly, "Get in."

Ian stood by the riverbank, his toes digging nervously into the mud as he glanced back at Dad.

Dad did not even look up.

"Dad... I don't know how to breathe properly yet."

"You'll learn after choking on a few mouthfuls of water."

Ian was trembling so hard his whole body shook.

The water rose past his knees, then his waist.

This time, Dad finally looked up. His eyes were so cold I could feel it from ten meters away.

"What are you looking at? You think there are sharks in there?"

Gritting his teeth, Ian threw himself into the river.

He could not swim at all.

His arms flailed wildly, splashing more water into the air than he moved himself forward. His head sank under, popped back up, sank again, surfaced again, every gasp filling his mouth with river water.

I stood on the shore, my legs shaking.

"You get in too," Dad said.

"Dad, Ian's choking on water. Let him come back up first..."

"If he chokes a hundred times, he won't choke anymore. I counted when I was little. Exactly one hundred times."

I jumped into the river and swam over to Ian, grabbing him under the chin to keep his head above water.

He clung to my neck like I was the last thing keeping him alive.

"Dylan, I don't want to learn anymore. I want to go home..."

But Dad walked over and kicked him hard in the shoulder.

"If you don't learn today, nobody's going home."

After that, Ian stopped crying.

So today, even though his face had gone deathly pale with fear, he still stepped into the water.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

I pulled it out, the screen smeared with water.

It was a social media post from my classmate Travis Shaw. Attached was a photo of a bright blue swimming pool, so blue it hurt to look at.

[Accidentally swallowed some water at the pool today. Coach got so scared his face turned green hahaha.]

Below it was a picture of Dad looking panicked and terrified, completely different from the cold indifference he showed me and Ian.

Something inside my chest felt like it tore open.

Using every ounce of strength I had left, I typed:

[Why wasn't the one swept away by the current you?]

The moment I slipped my phone back into my pocket, the screen lit up again.

Dad.

"You need to delete that comment right now."

I was still treading water, gasping for breath, unable to speak.

"Did you hear me? Travis's father is my coworker. What am I supposed to say to him now? Delete it immediately, then call Travis and apologize."

"Dad... Ian still hasn't been found..."

"We'll deal with Ian later. Delete the comment first. Right now."

Water rushed into my nose, choking me until tears streamed down my face.

I stared at the raging river. Ian's head never surfaced again.

"I'm not deleting it."

My voice shook, but this time I did not back down.

"I won't delete it."

The line went silent for a second.

Then Dad's voice twisted, harsh and furious.

"Dylan, don't you start acting crazy on me. If you don't delete that comment today, then don't even think about coming back home."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the call timer on the screen.

00:47.

Then I hung up.

The river had swept my little brother away.

And with him, the last bit of hesitation I had left.

I dragged myself onto the shore. A sharp rock sliced open the bottom of my foot, blood pouring out instantly. Sand ground into the wound, but I clenched my teeth and stayed silent.

Dad always said strong people don't cry out in pain.

But he never said that people who stay silent still hurt.

"Ian!"

No answer.

"Ian!"

Only the sound of wind moving through the reeds answered me, somewhere between laughter and crying.

After walking for forty minutes, I finally reached the floodgate.

The muddy current slowed here, clogged with trash, dead branches, and plastic bags, all tangled together like a pot of rotten soup.

Something blue was caught in the middle.

Ian's shorts.

Mom had just bought them for him last week. Bright blue, with a cartoon shark printed on them.

I lost my mind and charged straight into the water. It surged up to my waist instantly.

But there were only the shorts.

Ian was gone.

I stood frozen in the river, clutching the soaked fabric, my whole body trembling.

Dirty yellow water stretched endlessly around me. No bottom. No edge.

"Ian...!"

My throat was destroyed by then. No sound came out anymore, only ragged air forcing its way past my lips.

No response.

In the distance, I spotted an old man fishing.

I stumbled toward him and grabbed his arm.

"Sir, please... please help me call the police. My little brother got swept away..."

The old man jumped in shock. When he saw the state I was in, his face immediately changed.

"Where did you come from? Roaring Spine Ferry?"

I nodded, tears pouring down my face.

"You can't swim there! The riverbed's full of hidden trenches. People drown there every year! Where were your parents? How could they let you kids go somewhere like that?"

I did not answer.

I dropped to my knees and bowed my head repeatedly.

"Please... call the police..."

The old man quickly took out his phone and dialed 911. Then he helped me sit by the roadside and handed me a bottle of water.

I took one sip.

My stomach lurched violently and I threw everything back up.

The police arrived and asked me question after question.

How tall was he?

How heavy?

What was he wearing?

What time did he fall in?

I answered every single one.

That same night, the rescue team entered the water.

Massive floodlights were set up along both sides of the riverbank, bleaching the water a sickly white.

I sat on a rock by the shore and stared at the light.

They searched for two days and two nights.

On the morning of the third day, a middle-aged officer in uniform walked over and crouched in front of me.

He removed his cap and spoke slowly, gently.

"Dylan... we've searched more than ten kilometers downstream and still haven't found your brother.

"There are too many branching currents in this river. It's possible that... you should prepare yourself mentally."

I stared at him.

"What does 'prepare myself mentally' mean?"

He did not answer.

He only placed a hand on my shoulder.

He never said the words 'unlikely to survive,' but I saw them clearly in his eyes.

I lowered my head and clenched Ian's shorts in my hands so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

Then the tears came all at once.

My phone vibrated.

The caller ID flashed across the screen:

Dad.

I answered.

His voice was impatient, still carrying that commanding tone.

"Where did you run off to? Why haven't you come back to apologize yet? Travis's father called me just now asking what's wrong with you and why you posted a comment like that. Get back here immediately and apologize to Travis in person."

I lowered my head, my voice breaking.

"Okay.

"I'll come back now."

The taxi stopped downstairs.

I got out while holding onto the door for support. The cuts on the soles of my feet had already scabbed over, but every step still felt like walking on broken glass.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard laughter coming from inside the apartment.

Travis was there too. He sat in the center of the living room, holding up a gold trophy that gleamed harshly under the lights.

Dad stood beside him with one hand on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

I stood at the doorway, reeking of sweat, dirt, and stale river water.

No one noticed me.

Dad raised a can of beer toward the room.

"Come on, everyone, another toast to our champion Travis Shaw! Gold medal in the city junior division two-hundred-meter freestyle!

"I'm telling you, this kid was born for swimming. I trained him for years, added two extra hours every day, no breaks even during holidays."

Travis flashed a wide smile, showing off his bright white teeth.

"It's all thanks to Coach Lancer. Without him, I wouldn't be where I am today."

Dad waved a hand dismissively, laughing even louder.

"No, no, this boy earned it himself. Unlike some kids who just can't amount to anything."

His gaze swept over and finally landed on me, his brows knitting together.

"You're back. Perfect timing, congratulate Travis."

I stayed where I was without moving.

Travis turned and spotted me. The smile on his face twisted from smug pride into mockery. He lifted the trophy and waved it at me.

"I heard you went for some special training at Roaring Spine. So, how'd it go? Want me to teach you a few moves?"

Several students nearby burst into laughter.

A girl in red covered her mouth as she giggled. "River survival training? Oh my god, that's hilarious."

Dad did not stop them.

I took a step forward.

"Dad, Ian..."

But he cut me off immediately.

"I already know about Ian. The police told me. Maybe the kid got scared I'd punish him for not learning to swim and decided to hide somewhere.

"Besides, my son's not that easy to wash away."

I watched his mouth moving, his voice buzzing in my ears like flies.

Then my eyes drifted to the cake sitting on the coffee table.

Written in red icing were the words:

Congratulations Travis Shaw, the Champion.

Underneath was a smaller line:

Coach Lancer's Proud Student.

Proud student.

I stared at those words as heat burned behind my eyes.

Ian had never even eaten a real birthday cake before.

Whenever his birthday came around, Dad always said birthdays for children were pointless, just a waste of time.

One year, Ian wanted a little sponge cake. I secretly bought him a one-dollar piece from a street shop. He only took two bites before saving the rest for me.

"Dylan, when I grow up, I'll buy you a huge cake."

He never got the chance.

"Dad."

I called out again.

Dad was still chatting with Travis and did not even bother turning around.

"Dad, Ian isn't hiding. The police said he might've been swept downstream. They said... they might never find him."

The living room fell silent.

A few of the parents exchanged awkward glances.

Dad slowly turned toward me, his eyes cold as ice.

"Why are you bringing this up today of all days? Travis finally wins a championship, and you come in here acting like someone died."

My lips trembled.

"Dad... he's your son."

"I KNOW HE'S MY SON!"

Dad suddenly roared so loudly that the beer cans on the coffee table rattled.

"When I fell into the river back then, nobody stood around crying for me either! Strong people learn how to endure. Understand?"

He turned and pointed toward Ian's bedroom door.

"Look at the two of you. One more useless than the other.

"Couldn't even learn how to swim properly, and now you've got the nerve to stand here crying. Travis wins championships. What can you two win? Tears?"

I followed the direction of his finger.

Ian's bedroom door was closed.

The drawing he had taped there was still hanging crookedly on the wood.

Two little stick figures holding hands, with a heart drawn between them.

My tears finally fell.