In that moment, as the rain fell like whispered regrets, Xiao lay sprawled on the cold, wet concrete, the world around him fading into a blur of pain and shadows. The darkness enveloped him, punctuated only by the erratic rhythm of raindrops drumming on the pavement, mingling with the crimson that seeped from his wounds. He felt as though he was drowning, not in water, but in the heavy weight of his failures—the bitter taste of desperation coating his tongue.

With every kick, the ache in his stomach deepened, each impact reverberating through his body like a cruel reminder of his choices. What was it worth? he pondered, each thought a fragment of a life barely lived. The money he had pocketed was nothing more than a cruel jest—a few coins meant to keep hunger at bay for just a little while longer, yet now seemed like a foolish gamble. Blood mingled with rainwater, forming dark puddles that reflected the stormy sky above.

They should just kill me here, he thought, a hollow laugh escaping his cracked lips. The thought was almost comforting, as if death could liberate him from this relentless suffering. The darkness crept closer, and he welcomed it, his eyelids growing heavy. He had never analyzed himself in those days, too lost in the tumult of youth to grasp the tangled web of emotions binding him to those he loved.

But then, a shift—a presence above him. He blinked against the rain, his vision blurred, and there you stood, a specter of hope amidst the despair. Your eyes held a flicker of light, contrasting sharply with the murky surroundings, drawing him from the depths of his pain. A weak smile formed on his lips, a reflexive gesture of familiarity, though it felt fragile and fleeting.

“I figure you are going to reprimand me now?” he murmured, the words a mere whisper, choked by the blood and the storm. He tried to push himself up, but the effort was too great; the ground held him in its cold embrace, and he crumpled back, a discarded puppet with frayed strings.