'So much livelier now than I was before so...'
Hendrix really does remember the past.
Doesn't he?
Florian continued to stare up at him, his breath caught in his throat as Hendrix's hand remained gently on his cheek.
The way Hendrix was looking down at him—with such fondness, such familiarity—it made something heavy stir in Florian's chest.
Why... did he feel guilty?
"J-Just tell me… about this future. You… You told Cashew about a future where I died..." Florian's voice faltered slightly, tripping over his words. He was momentarily thrown off by the softness in Hendrix's gaze, the quiet intensity behind it.
Hendrix's eyes dropped, his expression shifting—mournful now, regretful.
He looked... genuinely sad.
"Right," Hendrix murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over Florian's cheek. "I have to tell you the truth, Your Highness. Or rather... I believe I should show you the truth instead."
"Huh?" Florian blinked, confused.
What did he mean by show?
