How could I forget Anson.

  He was in 5T too. Another chubby boy, but leaner than Jason. Less round, more compact. The type that looked permanently mid snack but still capable of sprinting when necessary.

  In my previous life, something important happened because of him.

  His mother introduced my mother to a recurring warehouse stock management job. It was stable. Consistent. Not glamorous, but dependable. That income bridged the gap between collapse and survival. Before my mother later pivoted into selling bread at the morning market, that warehouse job kept the lights on.

  Technically, Anson’s mother was one of the saviors of my family.

  And what did I do with that blessing?

  I nearly ruined the friendship over Pokémon.

  We both played Pokémon Emerald.

  I progressed faster.

  Stronger team. Better movesets. Smarter grinding strategy.

  Instead of sharing tips, I weaponized progress.

  “You still haven’t beaten Norman?” I asked loudly once.

  Anson scratched his head. “Not yet.”

  “It’s easy,” I said. “Maybe you need more training.”

  Classmates started noticing tension.

  One by one they approached me.

  “What happened between you and Anson?”

  And even with Anson standing nearby, I would explain without lowering my voice.

  “He’s too slow.”

  I cringe remembering it.

  Eventually word reached my mother.

  She called me into the living room.

  “Do you know Anson’s mother helped us?” she asked.

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  “Yes,” I muttered.

  “And you treat her son like that?”

  I had no answer.

  Anson was good from start to finish. No ego. No retaliation. Eventually the tension faded without dramatic apology. We just resumed normal interaction as if nothing happened.

  Years later in university, he would help me with a particularly brutal final semester assignment. Free of charge. He even drove me around in his small yellow Picanto like a personal chauffeur.

  From someone supposedly less smart than me.

  Humbling.

  In this life, circumstances were different.

  Because the inheritance was properly secured, my mother was not in immediate financial desperation. She did not need to scramble for survival.

  But I believed it was still important for her to reenter society.

  Not out of necessity.

  Out of recovery.

  After being a housewife for so long, after losing my father, structure and social interaction would help her mental state. Work chosen freely feels very different from work forced by survival.

  The problem was simple.

  If history flowed naturally, Anson’s mother would not meet my mother this time.

  So I decided to manufacture destiny.

  During recess, I sat beside Anson while he was grinding in Pokémon Emerald.

  “What badge already?” I asked.

  “Four,” he replied proudly.

  “Solid progress.”

  He squinted at me. “Why you suddenly so supportive?”

  “Character growth,” I said.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  I lowered my voice slightly.

  “My mother is thinking of working again.”

  “Oh.”

  “She has experience managing household logistics,” I continued, sounding suspiciously like a LinkedIn profile. “I was wondering if your mother might know of anything suitable.”

  Anson paused his game.

  “You want me to ask my mum?”

  “If convenient,” I said. “No pressure.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I tell her tonight.”

  Old habits kicked in.

  Nothing comes free.

  Even kindness must be reciprocated.

  I took out my Game Boy.

  “Trade?” I asked.

  His eyes widened. “You sure?”

  I navigated to my team.

  There it was.

  One of my rare, properly trained Pokémon. High level. Optimized moveset. The kind that could carry half a game alone.

  He stared at the screen.

  “Wait. You serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you deserve a strong teammate,” I said.

  “That one very hard to get,” he whispered.

  “I have already beaten the game in my heart,” I replied calmly.

  He looked at me like I had just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

  “Bro,” he said softly. “You don’t have to.”

  “I insist.”

  The trade animation began.

  That slow cable transfer sound.

  Data shifting.

  Childhood economics in motion.

  When it completed, he gasped.

  “Wah. I cannot believe you give me this.”

  “Take your time finishing the game,” I said. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

  He stared at his screen like a sacred artifact.

  “You changed,” he said.

  “Software update,” I replied.

  He laughed.

  In the grand scheme of things, that Pokémon meant nothing to me.

  I was a thirty one year old adult in strategic disguise.

  But to him, it meant acceleration. Excitement. Shared joy.

  Later that week, he ran up to me after school.

  “My mum say can meet your mum,” he said breathlessly. “She know some warehouse work.”

  Perfect.

  Destiny corrected.

  Not through desperation.

  Through intention.

  Sometimes survival depends on strangers.

  Sometimes you are given a second chance to treat them properly.

  This time, I intended to earn it.