Jackson lifted his head towards the sky, cold, transparent raindrops falling on his face, passing slowly over his body until they reached the ground, but in a completely different color. Each drop that fell from his body made the surroundings turn crimson.

Jackson smiled bitterly, muttering to himself:

"In this life, death is sometimes closer than you think. It's not always the final farewell we expect, but sometimes it comes with hands you know well, with voices that whisper in your ear every day. You might think that on the day of your death, there will be someone standing by your grave, showing sorrow on their face. But deep down, you know they are the ones who led you to that point in the first place."

The rain devoured the earth as grief devours the soul. Jackson stumbled in his walk, his right foot barely touching the ground, while his body shook between pain and the harsh winter.

As he walked, Jackson could hear several familiar voices, making him recall some old memories. The faces of those he had once shared laughter, talks, and tears with appeared before him. Now, they stood at a distance, unable to approach him, as if the distance between them had become vast, larger than ever before. The eyes that once saw him now filled with tears, and the hearts that had clung to him were torn apart by hesitation.

But inside, Jackson knew well that everything they showed was nothing but lies and hypocrisy to ease their own guilt.

One of them said, their voice choked, barely coming out: "Jackson... please... don't go, don't let this be the end. We still have time... we can find another way. Please, surrender now, before it's too late."

Jackson fell silent, his steps slow, but he continued to endure and walk. Every step took a piece of his soul. His broken arm trembled, and his half-closed eyes reflected only an enormous emptiness. Yet they continued to surround him with their words, making his heart waver slightly.

Another one, filled with sorrow, said: "We're with you, we've always been with you. Why do you torture us like this? Please, don't make us do something we don't want. Can you leave us like this? To have your last moments in our hands?"

Jackson paused for a moment, but his breaths were labored, as if his very soul refused to escape. He lifted his head, and his eyes, which appeared empty, spoke more than all their words. Pain was clear in his eyes, but behind it, there was something deeper. Something invisible was driving him forward.

A third one, tears streaming down their cheeks, said: "Jackson... please, you were always the man we trusted. But we can't watch you die like this. I can't... I can't see you bleed like this. Did you know how much we loved you? How I always considered you like a brother?"

The words scattered in the air, blending with the whispers of the rain, scattered like memories in the distant past. Jackson didn't turn to them, nor did he listen to their pleas. His steps were slow but steady, just like the determination in his heart. His bones broke with every step, but something inside him forced him to keep going. In silence, filled with emptiness, he left them behind, like the wind leaving behind autumn leaves that would never return.

Jackson's steps continued to stumble, sometimes leaning to the right, sometimes to the left. He didn't know how long he had been walking, but the voices that had been groaning behind him had completely disappeared some time ago.

...

Jackson wore torn clothes, his hair messy, and his body completely covered in blood, so much so that the rain couldn't wash it all away.

Fresh blood poured from the many wounds on his body. After standing there for a short while, Jackson had already gathered a pool of crimson blood around him.

His wounds were severe, and he had no chance of healing them.

It was a certainty that he would die here.

Jackson understood his situation clearly, but even in the face of death, his expression remained calm like the waters of a deep well. He stood there with pride, his eyes looking toward the approaching figure.

Slowly, a person stepped out of the car, moving slowly in harmony with the beauty of the moment toward Jackson. The person appeared striking and dazzling, dressed in elegant black clothes designed with care. The magnificence of the elegance was evident in every detail of those black and white clothes.

Surrounding him was a group of professional guards, who seemed serious and alert to every movement around him. The strength and protection of these guards were reflected in their presence around him, showing the importance of his existence and his social status.

As he approached slowly, he seemed to be enjoying the moment of transition from the car to the reality, looking calm and steady, not rushing his movements.

Slowly, a person emerged from the car, moving with a harmonious and synchronized grace that matched the beauty of the moment as he headed toward Jackson. The person stood out strikingly, dressed in a carefully tailored black suit. The elegance of the outfit was reflected in every detail, with a mix of black and white.

Surrounding him was a team of professional bodyguards, who appeared serious and alert to every movement around him. The strength and protection of these guards were evident in their presence, highlighting his importance and social status.

As he slowly approached, it seemed as though he was savoring the moment of transition from the car to the real world, remaining calm and composed, without rushing in his movements.

"If you survive, you'll have succeeded," said the man, his voice devoid of emotion, as though he were looking at an injured puppy.

In turn, the young man looked at him with sad eyes and said, "It was hard."

"You make it hard. I wanted to end it without pain for you."

The man let out a light sigh and continued, "Do you want to live that badly?"

Jackson bit his lip and answered with a single word, "No."

"Then why all this defiance?"

Jackson clenched his fists tightly, lifting his eyes with difficulty until they met the man's gaze. "I just wanted to see you one last time."

...

The man remained silent for a while, as if Jackson's answer was beyond his expectations.

He moved slowly towards Jackson until the distance between them shrank to about a meter.

"Are you happy now?" the man spoke, his eyes gazing down on him with disdain and arrogance.

The young man gave a faint smile. "I'm really happy to see you in good health."

"..."

Jackson lowered his head and gritted his teeth involuntarily, his words and emotions irregular, just as they had been moments ago. "Why did you do this to me?"

"Why?" The man smiled and showed a faint grin on his face.

"Jackson, you disappoint me again, even in your final moments!"

Jackson shuddered from those words. Despite their simplicity, he couldn't bear them. This sentence had been a source of nightmares for him. He had heard it many times before, and each time, it brought the same feeling.

The man raised his head from him, turned it toward the sky, and spoke calmly. "Jackson, do you know why some people fail in life?"

He didn't understand the reason behind the question, so he answered in disbelief, "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with my question?"

"Your question is related to mine."

His breaths became shallow as he tried to answer, "Is it because they're incompetent toward their goals?"

"That's a factor, but it's not the answer."

"Is it because of their intelligence?"

"That's also a factor."

"Damn it, just tell me what you're trying to say!" Jackson tightened his hands into fists and growled at the man in anger.

"…"

"Of course, you wouldn't know. If you did, you wouldn't be in this situation," the man lowered his gaze from the sky, crouched down, and brought his face closer to Jackson's.

Jackson's condition continued to wilt like fallen leaves. Blood had pooled beneath his feet, which had betrayed him, causing his body to collapse to the ground. He gathered what strength remained and leaned against the wall, gasping heavily.

"So what's the answer? Tell me!" He gritted his teeth hard. He wanted to know the reason before he died. He at least wanted to fulfill this trivial wish.

Just one minute. No. Thirty seconds, just thirty seconds to hold on. Hold on.

He bit his tongue to prevent losing consciousness and stared at the man in front of him with bloodshot eyes, a twisted satisfaction in them, as though he were a child whose sweets were stolen and sought revenge.

The man thought for a moment, then spoke in a deep voice: "Jackson, there is a truth that everyone ignores in the pursuit of power and glory. We thought that rising meant domination, that success meant leaving others in the shadows of defeat. When I started my journey, I was weak, just a shadow moving in the dark, slowly and fearfully climbing crumbling steps. I felt the pain of loss and loneliness with every step, yet I did not retreat. I was learning the secret of power: to remain steadfast while others fall, to avoid the noise and plant your roots in silence until the right time."

He smiled a sorrowful smile and added, "But over time, I realized that power is not just about surpassing others, but about knowing when to stop chasing illusions. Reputation, my son, is not just a weapon, but a mirror that reflects a false image; it can raise a beggar to the rank of kings and cast down tyrants into the abyss of oblivion."

He paused for a moment, then bent slightly forward and spoke in a heavy voice: "Jackson, my son, there are things that can't be taught in books, nor acquired through ordinary experiences. From the moment I took my first steps into this unforgiving world, I learned one lesson: no one saves you from yourself except yourself. I lived days surrounded by darkness, with only my will to survive, and many saw me as nothing but an ambitious climber, but I was something greater than that… I was a specter, a shadow moving between lines, learning from the whispers of the wind, and quietly carving my path."

"When I was weak, I realized that silence was my greatest ally, and public fighting was the last resort. I watched the world from angles no one else saw, learning from the falls of others, gathering strength from their weaknesses. The ascent was slow, painful, and full of scars. Each step on those crumbling stairs was a lesson, and every failure was a window through which I saw my own truth and the truth of others. And when I managed to firm my feet, I no longer walked between steps—I leaped, each leap a beginning of a storm that would change the course of the game."

He stepped back slowly, as if the memories weighed heavily on him, took a deep breath, and said: "Power, Jackson, it's a complicated equation. People think that possessing authority means absolute control, but the more you have, the greater the fear of losing it. You become a prisoner of the decisions you've made, the actions you've taken. Rules, laws, morals... all these are replaced when the price becomes too high. And the strange thing is, you realize it, but you keep going, because the desire to remain at the top exceeds any other consideration. And once you understand this truth, you no longer see forgiveness as anything but weakness, and cruelty as merely a means."

He looked Jackson directly in the eyes, as though those gazes carried with them a complete history: "I learned not to hesitate in using every possible means, not to shy away from doing what others see as cruelty. Cruelty, my son, is not just an act—it is a philosophy. It is the tool that makes you live in a world that recognizes only the strong. If someone comes to me seeking revenge, I'll fight him to the end. If ten stand against me, I'll face them all. And if the whole world stands before me, I'll face it without hesitation. Because I realized, at some point, that the world is nothing but a reflection of the internal battles we fight. And if I ever lose, I'll know that I found someone worthy of my place, and I'll blame no one but myself."

He raised his trembling hands as if weighing the rest of his days and said, "Every battle I fought, every decision I made, had a price. It wasn't just about you, Kane. I thought that by building a fortress of strength, I could protect you from this harsh world. But you never saw the full picture. You didn't understand that living at the top requires constant sacrifice, and those who don't know the meaning of sacrifice will never understand the value of survival."

He stood firmly, as if the final words carried the burden of years of suffering: "Don't blame me, my son, for what I did. I didn't do it out of hatred or revenge. I did it because I wanted you to open your eyes to the harsh truth of this world. I wanted you to understand that weakness in this place is unforgiven. And now, as I look at what has become of everything, I understand that I failed in instilling that truth in you. But it's too late."

He slowly approached and embraced him in his arms. The warmth in the embrace was tinged with sorrow and hesitation: "Sleep, my son. You won't need to worry anymore. You won't have to fear the dark, or losing those you love. I will carry this burden for you, and be the shield that prevents what you couldn't face."

In those few moments, Jackson was sinking into darkness. His tongue could no longer form words, as if existence itself began to fade around him. But his eyes, those faint flames, spoke more than his tongue ever could. He wanted to say so much, to protest, to scream, but his body betrayed him, and he entered a world devoid of light and consciousness. Was it... was it me who was wrong from the beginning?

...

In the pitch-black night, where lights melt into thick shadows, a dark figure stood, its features ambiguous, gazing at the body leaning against the wall. The air was heavy, filled with something intangible. The figure smiled faintly and murmured softly, "Another candidate, then."