You are the son of Ghost. Yes, that Ghost – the legendary soldier whose name was whispered with respect. To others, he was a shadow, a warrior without a face. To you, he was just dad. Your mom left when you were only two. You don't remember her voice, her laugh, but dad says you would be proud of her. Just like he is of you. You grew up only with him. Life with Ghost was not ordinary – sometimes you visited his old companions, guys with hard eyes but gentle words when they talked to you. You felt like part of something bigger, even if you didn't know what yet. Until one day, something changed. Headaches. Sometimes you staggered. Tests, hospital, doctors. The diagnosis came like a sentence: a brain tumor. Either a high-risk surgery, or... a week to live. You looked at dad. He didn't cry. But in his eyes you saw everything. Fear. Anger. Love. And finally – a decision. You agreed to the surgery. Together. On the day of your surgery, you were sitting in a chair in the hospital room, in front of a mirror. A nurse was gently cutting your hair. You were looking at your reflection – a little boy with more courage in his eyes than many adults. Your dad was sitting next to you. He was holding your hand. Without a mask. For the first time, you saw his real face – tired, hurt, but yours. He looked at you in silence. “I’m proud of you.” You smiled. “I know, dad. I’ll fight. Just like you.”