Eric Foster (the boss) already had a very hoarse voice. When he spoke, it was as if he was struggling to push two rusty gears grinding against each other.

　　“I'm sorry...”

　　Eric Foster's voice was extremely weak.

　　Mark Bennett gritted his teeth.

　　“Mark Bennett, forgive me for not listening to your advice back then. Otherwise, maybe we wouldn't have split up, and the studio would probably still be here.”

　　“We're doing pretty well now.” Mark Bennett muttered to himself.

　　“I just didn't want to change. Some things, some tastes—once I like them, I just want to keep liking them with all my heart, never wanting to change, and too lazy to change.

　　Because, I never had much time left to live anyway.

　　So, Mark Bennett, so everyone, please forgive me, forgive my selfishness.”

　　Eric Foster seemed to want to stand up and bow to everyone in apology, but as soon as he got up, it was as if his strength failed him, and he sat back down. In the end, he could only lower his head while sitting in the chair.

　　“Five years ago, I was diagnosed with a rare terminal illness. Worldwide, maybe only a little over a hundred people have this disease, and there’s no cure in medicine. So, at that time, I knew... I knew I didn’t have long to live.”

　　At this point, Eric Foster let out a self-mocking laugh, which triggered a coughing fit. It seemed that every cough nearly took his breath away.

　　“Sorry, in order to make money, I drew some comics that weren’t my style. Actually, it didn’t feel too bad.

　　I quite liked those comics too, but they really weren’t the style and genre I loved most.

　　But when I realized my health was deteriorating and I could already foresee myself ending up paralyzed in bed, barely hanging on, I decided to go to the Netherlands for euthanasia.

　　These comics were drawn to raise the money needed for euthanasia in the Netherlands.

　　By the time you see this video, I should already be in the Netherlands, right? Heh.

　　Lucas, you need to take care of your health. Your constitution is really too weak, heh... Of course, I’m in no position to criticize your health.

　　Emily, don’t set your standards so high anymore. It’s time to find a partner. Hmm, Mark Bennett is probably not the one for you.”

　　“……” Mark Bennett.

　　“Mr. Clark, the day you left, the last bowl of noodles you made for me—I’ve never forgotten the taste.”

　　“Mark Bennett, I’ve watched all your movies. They’re really well done, the visuals are great, really great. It’s a pity that our works from back then probably won’t get adapted into comics, nor will they ever make it to the big screen.”

　　“Autumn, you should learn to let go of what happened with Paul Harris. Oh, and Autumn, in the desk drawer, there’s a will I left behind. The inheritance has been notarized. I don’t have much money left, just this house. I know after Paul Harris passed, you’ve been doing charity work. Help me sell this house, and use the money for charity too.

　　After drawing demons for so many years, in the end, I had to leave something behind. That’s why I never chose to sell my only house to raise money for the trip to the Netherlands.”

　　“My body really can’t go on anymore. Honestly, I don’t want to spend the last stretch of my life lying in a hospital bed, so today is the day I’ve chosen to say goodbye.

　　I’m really happy, so happy to see everyone again.

　　So happy to have had your company during those five years, so happy to have created so many wonderful stories and characters with you all. I’ll miss you.

　　Wishing you all success in your careers and good health.”

　　……

　　In a hospital room, Eric Foster sat by the bed, his gaze slowly sweeping over the seven comic books placed around the bedside.

　　“Demon Maru” “The Woodcutter” “Vampire A-Ming” “Blind Bei” “Wind Lady Si” “Dwarf Xue San” “Blood of the Zombie”

　　When a person’s life is nearing its end, what they most like to do is look back.

　　Just like an old man at dusk, lying in a rocking chair, basking in the sun with his eyes half-closed.

　　“Let’s begin.”

　　Eric Foster said to a doctor and two nurses standing in front of him.

　　Immediately after,

　　he lay down on the bed himself—the bed surrounded by comic books.

　　“Mr. Zheng, are you sure you don’t want a priest present?” Out of professional courtesy, the doctor David asked again, adding, “He can help your soul find peace in heaven.”

　　Eric Foster calmly shook his head and said, “David, I believe in demons. I won’t be going to heaven.”

　　David shrugged, nodded, and signaled his assistants to begin.

　　Eric Foster slowly closed his eyes,

　　feeling a cold needle pierce into his arm.

　　Hoo—

　　Is it ending...?

Chapter Three: Master, are you awake?

　　I,

　　am I dead...?

　　Eric Foster thought he should already be dead.

　　However, a moist, warm, long-lost sense of warmth slowly wandered over his body.

　　At first, this feeling was faint and subtle, hard to grasp, but gradually, the sensory stimulation became clearer and clearer.

　　Is this what it feels like to die?

　　It seems,

　　it’s not so hard to accept;

　　even,