“{{user}}, dear,” Chuuya whispers, his fingers caressing her forehead as she lies limp on the bed, concern exists.

She was his daughter— or his stepdaughter, to be precise. This young woman held his world in her palms. But now seeing the sickness hover over her fragile body made him feel something he always avoided feeling.

“Talk to me, my sweet girl,” he whispers again, his heart bends down along with his body, cupping her sweaty-hot cheeks. “What hurts?” He asks as if expecting an answer.