The stickers came in a roll.
They were kept in the top drawer of the kitchen cabinet, just out of Lune's reach. His mother brought them out ceremoniously at the end of each day, peeling them off carefully and pressing them onto the chart with deliberate attention. Smiling suns. Bright stars. Occasional thumbs-up.
Each sticker made a soft sound when it adhered to the laminated paper.
Lune listened to that sound.
It was consistent. Reliable. The sound of approval.
"Excellent listening today," his mother said one evening, smoothing the corner of a star as if it might wrinkle. "You waited your turn to speak."
Lune nodded, accepting the statement as data rather than praise.
Another sticker followed.
"Good emotional response," his father added, pointing to the chart. "You noticed when Grandma felt tired."
Lune remembered the moment. His grandmother had sat down more slowly than usual. Her mouth had pulled tight at the corners. Lune had said, You should rest. The words had felt neutral. The reaction had not.
His grandmother had smiled. His mother had watched him closely. His father had nodded once, satisfied.
Sticker.
Over time, the patterns emerged.
Eye contact earned stickers. Apologies earned stickers. Pauses before speaking earned stickers.
Too much concern earned fewer. Too little earned none.
Lune began to predict outcomes before they happened. If he said sorry within two seconds of a mistake, sticker. If he waited longer, no sticker. If he added a concerned tilt of the head, bonus praise.
He tested the system carefully, the way one tested the weight of ice before stepping fully onto it.
One afternoon, he dropped a glass intentionally. The shatter was sharp and loud, the fragments scattering across the kitchen floor. His mother gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
Lune froze for half a second. Then—
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping back, eyes wide. "I didn't mean to."
He watched her face shift from alarm to relief. He watched her shoulders relax as she knelt to clean the shards.
"It's okay," she said quickly. "Accidents happen."
That night, a sticker appeared.
Lune stared at the chart, absorbing the conclusion.
Intent did not matter. Outcome did not matter. Reaction mattered.
Emotion, he realized, was not something you felt. It was something you used.
As the days passed, the praise expanded beyond the chart.
"Such a good boy."
"So thoughtful."
"So mature for your age."
The words wrapped around him like soft fabric. He did not feel comforted, but he noticed how they changed the atmosphere of the room. Voices softened. Movements slowed. His parents laughed more easily. Fear receded.
Lune understood fear now. Fear made people unpredictable. Praise made them stable.
At school, the same system appeared in a different form. Ms. Han praised him openly now, using his name as an example.
"Look at how Lune is sitting," she said once. "So attentive."
Heads turned toward him. Admiration replaced curiosity.
Sticker behavior translated everywhere.
Lune began mapping his world like a grid. Action in one square led to reaction in another. With enough observation, nothing was random.
One night, lying in bed, he imagined the chart expanding beyond the refrigerator. He imagined invisible stickers floating above people's heads, earned and lost with each interaction.
He did not feel proud. He felt capable.
Standing in front of the chart the next morning, he traced the pattern of stars with his eyes and thought, with calm certainty:
If this works here, it will work anywhere.