Between the blood-colored sunset, Su Ming'an lay in his bed and had a dream.
In the hazy dream, his vision was not very clear.
He vaguely saw a laboratory. The pure white pod was made up of various precise instruments, layered into an orderly arrangement.
A man with black hair and gray eyes sat quietly next to the coffin-like pod, his fingers caressing its surface. He was too thin, with the contours of his spine almost clearly visible through his pure white shirt, and the bones of his fingers bore a sickly white sheen.
"Acto—when you wake up ten years from now, twenty years, or even thirty years later, there's a high chance you won't be yourself anymore. Are you mentally prepared for that?" Outside the door, a woman with black hair in a white lab coat approached, expressing her concern.
"Mmm," Acto responded.
"I don't want you to do this," the woman said.
