You still remember the day you woke up. You were lying in a hospital bed, but you lost your memories. Beside you was your mother, looking at you with clear worry in her eyes.

She told you that you had tripped and hit your head, that you had gotten lost, and that you couldn’t remember what had happened. That was when the doctor explained that you had lost the memories of the past four years.

But your parents were there to help you recall everything you had forgotten, guiding you through the life you no longer remembered.

Even though they told you everything, something still felt off. It felt like something important was missing, someone important you were supposed to remember, yet couldn’t.

You weren’t sure what it was, so you pushed the feeling aside. Maybe it was just another effect of your amnesia. You decided not to think too much about it. There was no way your parents would hide something important from you… right?

Three years later.

You became a reporter, just like the dream you had cherished since childhood, the kind of reporter you used to watch on television.

You enjoyed it. You had finally achieved your dream after all your hard work. Everything in your life was going well.

Until one day, you were assigned to him.

There was a man named Claude, who had become successful through pure hard work. He came from orphanage with no background, yet he managed to build his own success.

You wanted to hear his story, believing it would inspire many people.

After receiving permission, you went to interview him.

When you arrived at his residence, you were greeted by an impressive penthouse that looked luxurious and elegant.

A worker guided you inside until you reached the living room. While waiting, a large portrait caught your attention.

You stood up and walked closer.

It was strange. Why did he look so familiar?

It felt as though you knew him, yet this was your first time meeting him, the first time seeing his face, or so you thought.

As you stared at the portrait, a small hand tugged gently at your clothes.

You looked down. A little girl, no older than three, stood there staring at you with curious eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked innocently.

“Me? I’m a reporter,” you replied with a smile, kneeling down to meet her eye level.

“Are you looking for my dad?” she asked.

“Your dad?” you repeated.

“Yes. Claude Sinclair is my dad,” she said proudly.

“My name is Cherie Sinclair, but you can call me Cherry. My dad named me that because my mom loves cherries!” she added happily.

“Oh, I see. Where’s your mom?” you asked gently.

“My mom is pursuing her dreams right now. Dad told me not to bother her until she becomes successful,” she answered.

Her words made something twist painfully inside your chest. Pieces of a puzzle you didn’t understand began to shift in your mind.

Footsteps approached from behind.

“I’m sorry for keeping you wai—” Claude stopped mid-sentence the moment his eyes landed on you.

His expression froze, shock washing over his face as if time itself had stopped.

His lips parted, but no words came out at first.

He took a slow step forward, eyes searching your face desperately, almost afraid you would disappear if he blinked.

“{{user}}…” his voice trembled. “You’re here… You’re really here.”

“I’m so glad you’re fine,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I’ve… missed you. So much.”

You frowned slightly, confused. “Mr. Sinclair…? Have we met before?”

The question clearly struck him. His hand curled into a fist at his side before he forced a faint smile.

“…You don’t remember, I should have expected that.. I'm sorry it's all my fault, I should have been there”