Warm.
So warm.
"Minh Nhat. Remember this."
"Be careful of others' kindness."
"If it's too much..."
"They don't give us anything for free."
"There's always a purpose."
Minh Nhat opened his eyes.
The warm, blinding sunlight.
He was lying on someone's lap.
A wrinkled hand, full of spots, clearly belonging to an older laborer, was stroking his head.
Approximately 40 to 50 years old.
"M....Mother...?"
He opened his eyes wide.
But the sun was too glaring.
He couldn't make out the face.
.
.
.
"Damn it...!"
"You...!"
"Graaaaahh!!!"
He punched the screen in front of him with force.
Displaying the fight scene of Ivory Qilin.
Minh Nhat trapped in an indeterminate void.
He had lost control of his own body.
Taken over by the one behind the system.
He gritted his teeth, furiously watching everything unfold.
