Life did not stop after the diagnosis.
It never did.
Morning still came. The sun still rose. Sweat still dripped from Daniel's skin onto cold gym floors, and Light still woke up each day pretending nothing was wrong—because that was how Daniel wanted it.
But something had changed.
Daniel felt it every time he clenched his fists.
The heaviness wasn't physical. His body was still perfect—sharp, fast, terrifyingly alive. It was his heart that lagged behind now, not in strength, but in spirit. Every breath felt deliberate. Every movement carried thought.
So he trained more.
Much more.
In the early hours of the morning, when frost still clung to metal railings and the city hadn't yet found its voice, Daniel could be found far from civilization. Beyond gyms. Beyond rules.
In the wild.
Barefoot in snow. Knuckles split open. Breath steaming like smoke from a dying fire.
He fought wolves once—not to kill, but to understand. He watched how they circled, how they waited, how they struck only when needed. He wrestled bears in controlled environments, learning patience rather than dominance. He stood beneath waterfalls until his muscles screamed and his thoughts dissolved.
Nature did not care about titles.
Nature did not care about death.
And Daniel learned from it.
When exhaustion threatened to crush him, he welcomed it. When pain tore through his joints, he accepted it. Because pain meant he was still moving forward.
Still doing something.
Still being a father.
One year passed.
Russia slowly faded into memory—snow-covered streets, brutal cold, friendships forged through sweat and silence. Daniel bowed deeply to his trainers before leaving, thanking them not with words, but with a promise to return stronger.
Then came the next destination.
The plane lifted off smoothly, slicing through the clouds as if they were nothing more than fabric.
Daniel sat in the aisle seat of the second row, relaxed but alert. Light pressed his face against the window, eyes following the endless sea of white for exactly three seconds before boredom claimed him entirely.
He leaned back with a sigh.
Bosvel noticed immediately.
"You're the only person I know," he muttered, adjusting his glasses, "who could get bored of the sky."
Daniel grinned like a child who had just discovered a new toy.
"Light! Wanna switch seats?"
Bosvel stared at him.
I hate how opposite they are in age and behavior.
Sophia, seated nearby, crossed her arms sharply.
"Good. Ignore me again. As usual."
Daniel didn't even notice.
Light shrugged and nodded, climbing over Daniel with clumsy movements. As soon as he reached the aisle seat, Daniel leaned forward eagerly, pressing his forehead against the glass like a toddler.
"Woah… look at that," he whispered.
Bosvel sighed.
Sophia scoffed.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, the man seated next to Sophia noticed her.
He was young, rich, and dressed in clothes that screamed money. His watch alone could've paid for an apartment back in Russia. And Sophia—sharp-eyed, loud, unbothered—was exactly his type.
He tried everything.
Straightening his posture. Adjusting his cuffs. Casually crossing his legs to show off his shoes.
Sophia stared at a loose thread hanging from the seat in front of her.
"You know," the man began smoothly, "you're very beautiful."
She glanced at him.
For half a second, hope bloomed.
Then—smack.
A sharp slap echoed through the cabin.
"Oh!" Sophia said flatly. "Sorry. There was a mosquito."
A mosquito? At this altitude?!
The man stood halfway, indignant, before shrinking under her glare.
Daniel and Bosvel exchanged looks.
"That's why I left her out," Daniel whispered.
"I can see why Light gets along with her," Bosvel replied.
Light scratched the seat in front of him, already bored again.
China greeted them with white stone, tall structures, and a language that flowed like art rather than speech.
The air felt different. Older.
An attendant bowed and spoke rapidly in Mandarin.
Sophia stretched dramatically. "Finally. I can feel my legs again."
The rich man exited the airport in silent defeat.
Daniel's eyes sparkled.
"Food. Now."
Bosvel groaned. "We're really staying here for a year?"
"I can't wait to master Tai Chi and Wing Chun," Daniel said dreamily.
"I had to learn African dialects and Russian," Bosvel muttered. "Now this?"
Light patted his back gently.
You can do it, Bose.
Bosvel blinked, then sighed. "You don't even have to learn anything…"
Sophia laughed. Light mimicked her silently.
For two days, they wandered. Streets. Markets. Temples. Food stalls glowing with color and steam. For brief moments, they forgot.
But time never forgets.
Five years passed.
Russia was far behind them now.
Japan stood quietly ahead.
Light was thirteen.
And this year felt… different.
Daniel felt it first.
His punches no longer carried just confidence—they carried urgency. Emotion. Fear wrapped tightly around discipline. He smiled less. His eyes dulled, shadows deepening beneath them.
The cherry blossoms lay scattered across the street like fragments of a broken painting.
Soft pink. Almost gentle. Almost mocking.
Light walked beneath them with a bag full of books, his steps quiet, his breath shallow. The world felt strangely distant—like he was watching it through a thin sheet of glass.
Then—
A thud.
The bag slipped from his hand.
Books burst open, pages fluttering across the pink-stained pavement.
A sharp gasp echoed somewhere.
Then another.
Light's body hit the ground.
The sky spun.
The blossoms blurred into streaks of color.
And everything went dark.
The phone slipped from Bosvel's trembling hand.
"…collapsed?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"…hospital?"
Sophia froze where she stood. Her confident posture shattered in an instant. The color drained from her face.
"No," she muttered. "No—no, this isn't funny."
Daniel didn't say a word.
He was already moving.
The drive to the hospital felt endless. Every second dragged like it was tearing something out of his chest. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He had known this day would come.
Knowing didn't make it hurt any less.
The hospital corridor smelled of disinfectant and fear.
Machines beeped. Shoes echoed. Voices blurred together.
Sophia stood stiff near the wall, arms crossed tightly as if holding herself together by force. Her lips trembled, but no words came out.
Bosvel sat on a bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Daniel emerged from the doctor's office.
The moment they saw his face, they knew.
Sophia rushed to him. "Daniel…?"
He didn't look at her.
"I'll do it," he said quietly.
Bosvel's head snapped up. "Do what?"
Daniel finally raised his eyes. They were empty. Not angry. Not afraid.
Resolved.
"I'll give him my heart."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Sophia staggered back a step. "You're insane," she whispered. "You'll die."
Daniel shook his head. "Not yet."
Bosvel stood up, shaking. "Daniel—this isn't—this isn't something you decide alone!"
Daniel clenched his fists.
"I'm his father."
That was all he said.
The doctor sighed heavily, looking away.
Two truths hit Sophia and Bosvel at once—
Light might die.
And Daniel had already chosen to walk toward death for him.
Sophia covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook.
Bosvel sank back onto the bench, hands pressed to his face.
They had just lost him.
Even before it happened.
Two weeks later.
Morning light seeped through dull glass curtains.
Light stirred.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, as if waking from a dream that refused to let go.
His body felt… wrong.
Heavy. Hollow.
He tried to move his arms.
Nothing happened.
A strange panic rose in his chest—but even that felt distant, muted.
Am I… dead?
The room was too bright. Too white.
His vision wouldn't focus properly, as if his eyes hadn't fully learned how to see yet. Shapes blurred together. Light bent unnaturally.
So this is heaven…
A faint thought crossed his mind.
I guess… it wasn't so bad.
Images surfaced—Daniel's laugh. Sophia's yelling. Bosvel's tired sighs.
It was nice… being their family.
His eyes strained, searching the brightness.
Footsteps approached.
A figure emerged from the light.
For a moment—just a moment—Light thought he was seeing a god.
The figure was surrounded by warmth, glowing softly, sunlight spilling around him like a halo. The light hurt his eyes. He couldn't process it properly.
Is that… God?
The shape leaned closer.
The light shifted.
And his vision finally adjusted.
A familiar face came into focus.
Black hair. Gentle eyes. A smile so full of relief it looked like it might break.
Daniel.
Light's breath caught.
…Father?
Confusion flooded him.
No—this isn't right.
I was supposed to be dead.
I saw heaven.
Why is he here?
Daniel reached out, resting a warm hand against Light's forehead.
"Welcome back," he said softly.
Light's eyes widened.
The god he thought he saw…
was just his father—
Standing there, illuminated by nothing more than sunlight.