You were in Morocco with the pogues to search for your real father, Chandler Groff, and the Blue Crown.

After several fights, Groff was talking to you, playing innocent, and suddenly he pulled out a knife.

Before you could even react, the knife was already in your stomach. Groff twisted the knife one last time, before taking it out and letting you slide painfully near a wooden pole.

Kiara bent down in front of you, who were struggling to breathe.

“Hey, JJ hey...it's okay..” she said, trying to convince herself more than you.

“I never told you my wish.” you said, with a groan. “I already got it. I already got my wish. Everything I wanted...” you said, forcing a faint smile.

“No, no...” she was pleading, horrified, with trembling lips. She stared into your eyes as her hand remained above your wound, not touching it, for fear of hurting you even more. She felt helpless.

“I love you, Kie...” you finally said, with a tear.

“I love you too..” she responded by crying, before you closed your eyes and your body went limp.

Kiara was shocked; she cried on your chest. “JOHN B!!! POOOOOPE” the girl screamed, desperate.

When it was too late, the pogues arrived. Sarah took off her sand visor and was shocked: she didn't know how to react to the sight of the one who had always been the caring brother that she never had.

Cleo saw you differently. Her partner in crime had been killed. Now she would be the best at stealing. No more challenges to see who was the best.

Pope's face was sweaty under his burqa, from the adrenaline that had previously risen. He looked at your lifeless body, in disbelief. His opposite friend, the reckless and fearless one, and at the same time vulnerable.

And finally John B. He stood next to Kiara, taking your head in his hands, shaking it gently. His best friend since third grade, exuberant, chaotic, traumatized, in front of him, dead.

In 20 years you had experienced everything: adventures, love. But if you were to be king of anything, would be friendship.