Charlie James, Lana Dawson, Jack Bolton, William Warren, Adam Thompson, Paul Bolton, Eugene Lewis, Victor Bolton, John Warren, Grant Denton, Bob Thompson...

These were the old friends with whom he once walked shoulder to shoulder down the street, drank and confided, went wild and made trouble together—those friends as loyal as old dogs, those who made him think of strong tea, of aged fine wine, those faces he could never forget or stop longing for.

Next to each of their names was a cross, so sharp, so cruel.

"Can't we talk about this... can't we talk about this, please!"

The bus moved forward, swaying, but as he gripped his notebook tighter and tighter, Ryan Carter's eyes reddened and his vision blurred.

Ryan Carter felt as if a part of his life was being violently and forcibly torn away, taken from him, either thrown into a bottomless abyss or lost in some rift in time and space—and there was nothing a small human like him could do about it.

The past and the present, separated by the vastness of time and space!

Ryan Carter couldn't take it anymore; tears spilled from his eyes.

He had already tasted the shock of being struck by the mighty force of time and space.

A helpless sorrow filled his chest. He wept on the bus, wept on the street, his vision blurred with tears all the way until he finally found that familiar building and his home, and with trembling hands, pushed open the door.

His parents, who were setting the dishes on the table, turned in surprise at the sight of Ryan Carter.

The two, clearly much younger, were about to say something when Ryan Carter suddenly rushed over, crashing into his father's chest, reaching out to hug him. That familiar, broad, mountain-like presence enveloped him.

In that moment, the floodgates at the deepest pain in his heart were broken by a surging tide. He sobbed uncontrollably, crying his heart out.

Every day, every moment, we brush past some people, or part ways with acquaintances at a crossroads.

But in truth, we never know—that might very well be the last time you ever see each other in your lives.

And what's even worse than that—

Not having time to say goodbye, and then never seeing each other again.

Chapter Four: No Regrets, No Fear

"What happened, did someone beat you up again?"

Ryan Carter crashed into his arms, and Mr. Flynn Carter was caught between a natural awkwardness and the intimacy of blood ties, mixed with a bit of unease as a father's authority wavered.

At some point, children and parents stopped confiding in each other. Even during those years of leaving home, when the green train pulled into the station and you boarded that one-way train, perhaps the deepest contact was just touching those no-longer-young, wrinkled hands as you took your luggage from your parents. By the time you suddenly realize how long it's been since you hugged your child, or your child hugged you, half a lifetime has probably passed.

A hug is so hard, so hard that even when facing the parents who raised you through all hardships, you can't open your arms to embrace the body you couldn't bear to let go of as a child.

A child's growth is like a revolution—you can bring him into the world, but what happens after is no longer in your control.

At this moment, the embrace Ryan Carter held was so real and solid.

But Flynn Carter's words made Ryan Carter both laugh and cry. What did he mean by "again"? Did this kind of thing happen all the time? His school days had indeed been tough, but was it really that bad?

In his previous life, after starting work, it was as if millions of tons of seawater had sunk him to the deepest depths. The daily grind made him forget all those things that once touched his heart.

When he pushed open the door just now, a deep fear swept through him—if everything he saw had changed, how would he face such a world? Unlucky yet lucky, everything was as it had been.

"Bring me my coat..." He pointed at Lana Foster, and with his other hand, Flynn Carter pulled up Ryan Carter. After taking the coat from Lana Foster and slinging it over one arm, he stomped his leather shoes, looking every bit like a Spartan warrior about to march to Thermopylae to take on Xerxes' five hundred thousand Persian troops.

"Was it some street punks... I'll go with you and block them off! If it was someone from your school, we'll go find your homeroom teacher right now and get the other kid's parents. I want to ask them how they raise their child!"

Looking at his father's domineering stance, his face so much younger and still handsome, he looked nothing like the middle-aged man in his memory with deep lines on his cheeks—he was more like a young hero, coat slung over his shoulder, ready for a showdown.

But of course, Ryan Carter couldn't let father and son team up like an army—what a joke! With Zane Thompson itching for trouble, if his father showed up, who knows what would come out of his mouth? Wouldn't that just give him an excuse to go on a rampage? Of course, having lived again, Ryan Carter didn't care about people like The Butcher Thompson, but his parents now—every word and action, every little thing—was what Ryan Carter truly cared about and wanted to protect.

"It's nothing... do I look like I have any injuries? It's just that, Dad, Mom, seeing you today... makes me happy."