When Albert Wilson regained consciousness, three days had passed. This injury had been truly life-threatening for him. In his over twenty years of life, apart from nearly drowning in the sea when he was seven, this was the closest he had ever come to death's door.
If not for the intervention of the mysterious "Dark Night Sunflower," he would likely already be reunited with his parents in heaven. Thinking of this, an image of a delicate face partly obscured by a large medical mask flashed in his mind. He couldn't help but murmur softly,
"Cynthia—"
The person holding his hand tightly in excitement at his awakening trembled all over, then began sobbing quietly.
"Albert, it's me, Lucca..."
Albert Wilson slowly opened his eyes and saw Lucca's tear-streaked, delicate face before him—not the calm and composed visage he had been envisioning.
