When I was seven, my constant vomiting got so bad that my mother took me to court and accused me of being born dangerous.

If the charge stuck, I would be stripped of my family ties and sent straight to prison.

Everyone said my mother was overreacting.

"He's just a kid. Kids get sick. As his mother, you should be more understanding."

But the moment the evidence was shown, the room went dead quiet.

My mother had drunk herself into a stomach bleed just to land a contract, and the second she got home, I threw up all over it.

The deal was voided, and she lost her job on the spot.

On my sister, Ophelia Sowle's, birthday, I threw up all over her cake right in front of all her classmates.

After that, she was shunned by everyone at school. She spiraled into depression and even slashed her wrists.

It didn't matter where I was, at the dinner table or under the covers. I could start vomiting at any moment.

My mother and Ophelia had to clean me up more than 30 times a day. It wore them down to the breaking point.

What infuriated them the most was that every time I finished throwing up, I would look at them and laugh, as if I was mocking them.

The judge brought the gavel down and declared me guilty of being born bad.

Ophelia's eyes turned red as she cried, saying she couldn't bear to lose me.

I didn't cry or fight it. I accepted the verdict. But I requested that the judge watch my memories first.

The judge looked stunned.

"Memory extraction means drilling into your brain. The pain is unbearable. Are you sure?"

I nodded without hesitation.

But Ophelia suddenly panicked.

"I don't agree!"

"Gabriel, everyone who's ever tried memory extraction died from the pain!" My sister, Ophelia Sowle, yelled. "I won't just stand by and watch you do something this stupid!"

My mother looked at me, her face full of concern.

"We'll come visit you in prison. You don't have to…"

I cut her off and signaled to the judge again. I wanted the procedure.

Seeing how firm I was, Ophelia snapped.

"Your body isn't yours to throw away! Back then, Dad was out delivering food just to earn money for your formula when he got hit and killed by a truck. Mom and I raised you from nothing! What right do you have to treat your life like it doesn't matter?"

Her eyes were red, her voice shaking, as if she were in real pain.

But I knew better. Every bit of it was an act.

I wanted nothing more than to stand there and expose her for what she really was.

But I couldn't.

I had been mute since I was very young.

A high fever when I was little left my hands shaking so badly that I couldn't even hold a pen.

At seven years old, I understood everything. I just had no way to say it.

Memory extraction was the only way I could prove the truth.

The entire trial was being broadcast live. People couldn't understand why, with the evidence already stacked against me, I was still putting myself through this.

Some thought they had it all figured out.

"What's so strange about this? He just wants to die and make his mom and sister regret it."

"He tormented them while he was alive, and now he won't even stop, even when he's going to die. This kid's nothing but trouble."

The judge slammed the gavel.

"Silence. The court respects the defendant's decision. Memory extraction will now begin.

"One more thing. Due to technical limits, the memories will be selected at random. They may help your case, or they may be completely meaningless.

"The process is extremely painful. You could die at any moment. Are you sure you want to do this?"

I nodded.

Beside me, Ophelia let out a small sigh when she heard the memories would be random. Hatred burned inside me like fire. Even if the pain killed me, I would expose her.

"The first extraction begins now."

A massive drill tore into my skull. Countless steel needles plunged straight into my brain and began to stir.

To keep the memories clear, there was no anesthesia.

I screamed, my body shaking as I forced myself to stay conscious.

Watching this, even the live comments started to hesitate.

[He's only seven. He's risking his life just to pull these memories out… Is there something we're missing?]

The comments immediately fired back.

[If you feel that bad for him, then you adopt him.]

[Yeah, try cleaning up his vomit every day and see if you're still smiling.]

The argument spiraled out of control.

Just then, the first memory finished extracting and lit up the big screen.

It was my first day of kindergarten.

Right from the start, the teacher called me a genius.

I couldn't speak, but I remembered everything after seeing it once. After testing, my IQ came back at 200, twice the average.

My mother was over the moon. She hired top tutors and swore she would raise me into someone extraordinary.

Ophelia even gave me her favorite doll, saying she was proud to have a genius brother like me.

The very next day, I threw up all over it.

That was also when everything went wrong.

I got hit with a sudden illness. My hands started spasming, and I couldn't even hold a pen anymore.

The comments flooded the screen.

[What the hell is wrong with him? That doll was their dad's keepsake. Ophelia wouldn't even touch it herself, and he just threw up on it?]

[If that were me, I would've slapped him on the spot. No way I'd let that slide.]

[But he was sick. Maybe he just couldn't hold it in…]

[Sure, but he could've done it on anything else. Why the keepsake? Feels deliberate.]

The memory kept playing.

After I recovered, I went back to school.

The other kids gathered around me, all trying to help.

"My mom made this peppermint tea. You should have some. It'll make you feel better."

I took it, grateful. But the second it touched my lips, I threw up.

The kid burst into tears, and the whole classroom turned into a mess. When the teacher came over to help clean me up, I threw up all over her, too.

[Look at that. Using people's kindness just so he can throw up on them.]

[Exactly. The hospital already said he was fine. This has to be on purpose.]

When my mother heard what happened, she rushed to the school right away.

She kept apologizing under her breath. Then she changed my filthy clothes herself and carefully washed me clean.

It took her three hours to deal with everything.

She was drenched in sweat by the time she finally sat down to rest.

Then I threw up again.

This time, it splattered all over the couch. The stench filled the entire house. The couch was completely ruined.

My mother looked like she was about to break, but she still forced herself to clean it up.

I wanted to say I was sorry.

But the moment I opened my mouth, I started laughing instead. My laughter was sharp and grating, like nails dragging across a chalkboard.

The steel needles churned wildly in my brain. The pain overwhelmed me, and everything went black.

The memory cut off.

The comments exploded.

[He's already this vicious at seven. If he's not born bad, then what is he?]

[Just get rid of him already. People like this are nothing but trouble.]

[Being a single mom is already hard enough, and she ends up with a kid like this. Even I feel bad watching it.]

As I slowly came to, Ophelia put on a pained expression.

"Gabriel, please stop hurting yourself. Those memories aren't just your scars. They're painful for Mom and me, too. Why dig them up again and make everyone suffer?"

The comments immediately sided with her.

[He doesn't feel guilty at all. Watching you clean up after him probably makes him proud.]

The judge flipped through the extracted memory and shook his head.

"Gabriel, after review, the panel still finds you to be inherently dangerous."

I clenched my teeth and pressed the button again.

Gasps rippled through the room.

The second extraction required red-hot needles. No one had ever endured it. I asked the judge for three stimulant injections to make sure I wouldn't pass out from the pain.

The needles drove in. My whole body twisted, my bones cracking under the strain.

Everyone said I had lost my mind.

A few minutes later, I was covered in blood.

The second memory appeared on the screen.

This time, the extracted memories came in fragments.

But every single one made people's blood boil.

One weekend, my mother took us on a family trip. We had just gotten onto the highway when I threw up all over the car.

On one of the rare birthdays Ophelia got to celebrate, I threw up all over her cake in front of everyone.

She was ostracized by her entire class and fell into such deep depression that she tried to take her own life. Before she did, she left all the allowance she had saved for me.

"Gabriel, I know you didn't mean it. But I'm so tired… They all call me the puke girl…"

My mother stared at the screen, her eyes red. "If I hadn't found her in time…"

Ophelia tugged at her sleeve, the scars on her wrist barely hidden.

The comments were filled with sympathy.

[Why does someone as kind as Ophelia have to deal with a brother like Gabriel?]

[She's only twelve and has to clean up after him every day. That's brutal.]

[Gabriel, get lost. I'll be Ophelia's brother instead!]

[I'm actually crying. If it's this hard just watching, I can't imagine what they've gone through all these years.]

But a few people started noticing something off.

[Look closely. Whenever Ophelia's asleep, Gabriel is completely normal. He never throws up.]

[And every time he laughs after throwing up, there are tears in his eyes.]

[Maybe he doesn't want this, either…]

Hope flickered in my chest. Someone was finally getting close to the truth.

But it didn't last.

[He's obviously doing it just to annoy people. If Ophelia's asleep, there's no point in him putting on a show.]

[And haven't you heard of crocodile tears? Laughing while crying? That's exactly what someone born bad would do.]

The memory cut off.

The arguments started up again.

After a long while, the judge spoke, cold and final.

"After deliberation, the panel upholds the original verdict. Gabriel is still deemed inherently dangerous."

The truth was so close. I refused to stop there. I demanded a third extraction.

The judge shut me down immediately.

"Each extraction costs 20 thousand dollars. We don't have the budget to keep indulging this."

Ophelia wiped at tears that weren't even there.

"Gabriel, stop this. I can't stand watching you suffer anymore…"

The fake concern on her face made something inside me snap. I wanted to tear her apart.

The judge was about to finalize the sentence when I suddenly pulled out a savings book. It was the money my father had secretly left me before he died.

Exactly 20 thousand dollars. Enough for one more extraction.

The comments exploded.

[Why didn't the dad leave that money to his daughter? He must've favored sons. No wonder he's gone.]

[He's only seven, and he managed to hide 20 grand? That's some seriously deep scheming.]

Ophelia suddenly lost her composure.

"No!"

The entire room fell silent.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to recover.

"I mean… Gabriel's always been weak. He won't survive a third extraction. I've been with him every day since we were kids. You can extract my memories instead. Your Honor, I'm willing to take his place."

Almost everyone was moved to tears.

With the judge's approval, Ophelia walked toward the extraction machine without hesitation.

The needles went in. Her scream tore through the room.

My mother turned away, eyes red, unable to watch.

A few minutes later, her memory appeared on the screen.

My eyes widened.

No! That wasn't how it happened.

Her memories flowed clearly, one after another.

When I was born, she was overjoyed.

When I got sick, she took care of me tirelessly.

Again and again, I deliberately threw up into her backpack, and every time, she patiently tried to reason with me.

I ignored her. Worse, I laughed and sank my teeth into her arm, biting until it was torn and bleeding.

When she tried to eat, I grabbed her plate and threw up into it.

When she did laundry, I threw up into the washing machine.

The crowd erupted, cursing me, saying I didn't deserve to live.

But I just stood there, lost.

I had no memory of any of this.

I never did any of it.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't write. All I could do was shake my head over and over.

Even my mother hesitated.

"Ophelia, why don't I remember any of this?"

Ophelia lowered her gaze, looking hurt.

"You work so hard every day, Mom. When you weren't home, I always cleaned everything up right away after Gabriel got sick. I didn't want you to get mad at him, so I never told you."

My mother pulled her into a tight hug, her eyes full of pain.

The comments flooded in again.

[Poor Ophelia. She's only five years older than him, and she's had to carry all this.]

[She's such a good kid. Getting stuck with a brother like Gabriel is just awful.]

[I was thinking about having another kid. Not anymore.]

[What's left to discuss? Just sentence him already.]

After deliberation, the panel reached a unanimous decision: my actions were too extreme. I was beyond saving.

I was sentenced to be erased.

Every vote passed. Ophelia's hand was the highest in the air, and she shot me a mocking smile.

"If you had just admitted it earlier, you could've rotted away in prison at least. But no, you had to go and pull out your memories. Guess you dug your own grave. Don't be scared. I'll visit your grave every year."

They tied me up and hoisted me above the grinder. The blades spun wildly beneath me.

As the crowd shouted, I slowly began to descend.

The soles of my shoes were shredded instantly.

I struggled, but the more I fought, the faster I dropped.

Just as my legs were about to be torn apart, the operator of the extraction machine suddenly shouted, "Your Honor! I found something that doesn't make sense."

She rushed forward, holding a blood-soaked mass of flesh.

Ophelia took one look at it and froze, panic flashing across her face.