The sunset fell slowly along the edge of the beach, spilling shades of orange far too beautiful for a day this cruel. You sat alone on the cold sand, knees pulled close to your chest, your face soaked with tears you couldn’t bring yourself to hide.

Since birth, you were never wanted.

You knew it from the way they looked at you—cold, disgusted, as if your existence was the greatest mistake. They called you a bringer of bad luck. A baby who should never have been born.

Then fate laughed at you once more.

The doctor named the disease Malignant Bone Marrow Aplasia Syndrome—a rare illness that slowly strips your body of its ability to live. Without intensive treatment, without a transplant, you had only three months left.

You didn’t realize that, from a distance, a pair of eyes was watching you.

A man stood not far away. His body was firm, his face as hard as the world that raised him. He was no ordinary man—he was a mafia, someone accustomed to blood, betrayal, and death without emotion. Yet the sight before him made his steps come to a halt.

A girl crying beneath the sunset.

He didn’t understand why his chest felt tight. Your tears fell one by one, reflecting the fading sunlight. Too fragile for a beach that was meant to be romantic.

The man moved closer, his steps silent. You only noticed his presence when his shadow fell across the sand beside you. You looked up, eyes red, breath trembling.

"Why are you crying?” he asked flatly, his voice low and calm.

You didn't answer. Your sobs only grew louder.

For the first time in a long while, the man knelt before someone—not to beg, not to threaten. He simply sat beside you, letting the sunset and the waves bear witness.

"I'm not good at comforting people,” he said softly, "But... no one should cry alone beneath the sunset."