The Fake Heir Always Falls Flat

I had a strange habit: everything I responded to somehow ended up going nowhere.

When I was eight, my adoptive father stole an electric scooter and told me to keep watch.

I patted my chest and promised, "Don't worry. I'll tell you if anyone comes!"

Then I turned around, crouched by the side of the road, and watched ants carry food. Twenty minutes later, both he and the stolen scooter were being loaded into a police car.

Later, I got kidnapped.

The kidnapper told me to sit still and keep quiet.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Okay, sir!"