Shuo hadn't thrown that kunai away.
He untied the silver-gray thread and wound it three times around his left wrist. It was so fine it barely looked like anything was there, hanging loosely like an inconspicuous bracelet.
He stuffed the kunai into a drawer with the neatly stacked candy wrappers-not because he treasured it, but because throwing it away meant bending down to pick up the trash. More trouble.
The next afternoon, someone from the Logistics Unit came to fix the window. He was a young man in his early twenties, quiet as a clam but efficient at his work.
Measuring, removing the old frame, fitting the new glass-the whole thing took less than an hour, and he even cleaned up every last scrap.
Shuo leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, lazily watching him work.
"This window of yours," the young man asked as he tightened a screw without looking up, "doesn't look like it fell into disrepair. Looks more like someone smashed it."
"If I say it fell into disrepair, it fell into disrepair."
Shuo's tone was flat. He offered no further explanation-a waste of breath.
"Oh."
The young man didn't argue. He glanced up at him. "Then why didn't you report it sooner? It's getting colder. Drafts are miserable."
"Tch. Couldn't be bothered."
The young man said nothing more. He finished tightening the last screw, wiped the edges of the glass with a rag, and stood up. "There, all fixed. Next time it breaks, report it sooner. Don't put it off."
"Mm," Shuo replied, too lazy even to thank him.
The young man left with his tools slung over his shoulder. Shuo moved to the window. The new glass was so clear that he could see the street outside perfectly, right down to the convenience store