CHAPTER 79: GUILTY FEELING

"The nursing robot, Boss," Nathan replied calmly. "It’s called the CareBot Series 01. Designed to assist patients, help guide the elderly, and even monitor basic health conditions. The media is all over it. And... most of the attention is focused on one name."

Edmund narrowed his eyes. "Whose name?"

"Greg Laz Alaric."

The room suddenly felt quieter. Edmund walked over to the desk and picked up the tablet from Nathan’s hands. He stared at the screen, seeing a picture of Alaric smiling in front of the nursing robot. The bold headline read:

"Young Revolutionary Behind the Rise of Brightmind & Craftpartner."

Edmund let out a soft grunt, his face showing a mix of shock. "How could...? Craftpartner, the one we doubted, is back on top. And Brightmind, which almost collapsed because of their failed project, is now shining. Seems I misread the situation this time."

Nathan carefully added, "If we had acted faster back then, maybe it would have been Iyluma standing on that stage with them. But... that opportunity is gone now."

The silence stretched for a moment. Edmund drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes still fixed on the screen. Then, he exhaled deeply.

"Alright," he said, his tone decisive. "Get the partnership proposal for Craftpartner ready. We can’t let this momentum slip away. If they’ve managed to rise, they deserve to be at the table with Iyluma."

Nathan bowed respectfully. "Understood, Boss. I’ll take care of it right away."

Edmund waved his hand. "Go now. I need some time alone."

Nathan quickly exited, closing the door quietly behind him.

Edmund stared at the photo of Alaric on the screen. His eyes narrowed, a mixture of admiration and envy in them. Then, he muttered under his breath:

"Alaric... Looks like I need to pay more attention to you from now on."

...

Cheers and applause still echoed in Alaric’s mind. The launch of the nurse robot had just ended a few days ago, yet its impact still rippled across the country. Everyone now knew his name. Each time he stepped outside, people turned their heads, and some even gathered the courage to greet him or ask for a photo.

But at the height of his success, something inside him felt different. When he sat alone in his room, staring blankly out the window, the glittering city lights scattered like stars below did not lift his spirits. Instead, his heart felt strange, as if something was missing, or perhaps left behind.

He leaned back, drawing a deep breath. Now and then his eyes shifted to the side, as if searching for a way to untangle the feeling that unsettled him. Then the image came again, quick as a flash, pulling him back to that moment.

An elderly man, frail and unsteady, had collapsed on the campus stairs. His trembling hands reached for the railing, but his knees could no longer support him.

Alaric, just coming out after a match, had hurried to help. He could still recall the man’s labored breathing and the way he whispered thanks through unsteady lips.

And one sentence the old man had spoken clung to his memory with surprising strength:

"My children, they only want my wealth. Once they get it, they abandon me. There is no one I can depend on."

Those words echoed again, leaving Alaric silent for a long time. He began to realize. Wasn’t that moment the seed of everything he had built since then? Wasn’t that old man the first spark that made him think, "What if there was a technology that could truly help someone like him?"

Alaric rubbed his face with one hand, a faint, bittersweet smile spreading across his lips.

"How are you now, sir? Are you still struggling alone in your house, or has your condition grown worse?" he murmured softly.

A strong urge welled in his chest. Amid all the noise and celebration, it was that man who might deserve his creation the most. But where could he find him? The world felt far too wide.

Alaric rose from his chair, pacing the room in search of more details. And then, like a locked door suddenly giving way, another memory surfaced. After helping the man back on his feet, Alaric had asked where he lived. The old man had answered, almost casually:

"Jalan Melati, Block C-12."

Alaric froze, eyes widening. He could hardly believe that the memory appeared so clearly now.

"Jalan Melati... Block C-12," he repeated softly, as if sealing the words into his mind so they would not slip away again.

Without hesitation, he grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen. In large letters, he wrote down the address, his hand trembling with an emotion he could not quite name.

He stared at the note for a long moment.

"Maybe it’s time I find you, sir," he whispered. "You were the reason all of this came to be, without even knowing it. If you’re still there... I want you to be the first to experience it."

Slowly he folded the paper and slipped it into his wallet. There was no longer any reason to delay. Tomorrow morning, after finishing his work at the office, he would head to Jalan Melati, Block C-12.

---

The next morning was already warm though the sun had only climbed halfway up the horizon. Alaric stepped out of his car and glanced at the faded street sign that read: "Jl. Melati." His heart beat a little faster. This was the address he had held onto all these years.

Jalan Melati was not a long street, yet it twisted and wound through a cluster of modest, quiet houses.

Alaric walked slowly, uncertain, stopping now and then to check the house numbers against the note tucked in his wallet. Block C-12. The words were clear, yet here the numbers jumped in confusing order. One house read C-8, and the next was suddenly C-15. There was no sign of C-12.

He pressed on, following the narrowing alleys, passing a small food stall selling fried snacks and a shabby motorcycle repair shop. His breathing grew heavier, sweat beading on his forehead, but he forced himself to focus. Each elderly face he saw made him pause, hoping to find the man from his memory. But every time, it wasn’t him.

After nearly an hour, Alaric’s steps slowed. He finally sank onto a rickety wooden bench near a small roadside coffee stall. Pulling out a water bottle from his bag, he took a sip and let out a long sigh. His body was only mildly tired, but his mind felt utterly drained.

He stared at the busy street filled with vegetable vendors and pushcart food sellers. In his heart, a thought whispered:

"Did I remember it wrong? Or... has the house been gone all along?"

Minutes passed in silence until he decided to try another way. When a middle-aged man came by, pushing an old bicycle loaded with scrap, Alaric stood up and called out.

"Excuse me, sir," he said politely.

The man turned with a friendly smile. "Yes, what is it?"

Alaric drew a breath before asking, "I’m looking for someone. Some time ago, I met an elderly man who lived around here. He was quite old, had trouble walking, and if I recall correctly, he sometimes used a wheelchair. He said his house was in Block C-12. Do you happen to know him?"

The man furrowed his brow, clearly trying to remember. His eyes wandered for a moment before he shook his head. "Ah, I’m sorry, son. I don’t know. As far as I recall, there are indeed a few elderly people here who use wheelchairs, but that exact address... I’ve never heard of it."

Alaric kept his voice steady, though disappointment tugged at him. "I see. Thank you, sir."

The man nodded, then added, "Perhaps the person you’re looking for moved away. Many people here sell their houses or move in with their children. He might be living somewhere else now."

The word "moved" rang sharply in Alaric’s head. If the man had gone to live with his children, it didn’t fit. That wasn’t possible.

"Do you happen to know where he moved, sir?" he asked, his tone carrying a faint hope.

The man exhaled, then shook his head again. "I really don’t know, son. To be honest, I don’t keep close track of everyone here. So if someone moved or where they went, I couldn’t say for sure."

"I understand. Thank you very much for your time," Alaric replied softly, bowing his head.

The man offered a small smile before continuing down the road.

Alaric sat back on the bench, his gaze drifting over the unfamiliar faces that passed by. Each time he searched, hoping for recognition, but the people remained strangers. Slowly, he released a heavy breath and thought to himself:

"So this is how it is, sir. I must have been too late to find you."

The young man felt guilty. He had become complacent and reveled in his victory without reflecting on his original goal. And he felt guilty...