...
Like a wounded beast, Yves King fell to his knees, convulsing uncontrollably. It felt as if a saw were ripping at his heart, the pain unbearable. The image of his mother blown away by the blast wave was like a brand seared deep onto his heart.
Even to this day, his natural instinct is to flee, to escape the unbearable truth that he could never truly accept. His mother had brought him up through numerous hardships, and the bitter memory of his arguments with her was unbearable. He remembered how she had cried, trying to dissuade him from joining the military, but he stubbornly enlisted.
How could his past self have done such a thing? For four whole years, he only crept home to check on her once, and even then, he didn't give her the chance to see him. He was so cruel to her. Yves King, Yves King, how could you be so cruel to your own mother?
