Today, Duover obviously didn't bring along his usual lackeys; he was alone.
Driving around Sumuli District, he then settled down in a roadside café.
He ordered a cup of coffee, requested some pastries, and watched the pedestrians walk by, their ordinary and mundane lives mirror their equally ordinary and mundane lives, devoid of any excitement.
Everyone hopes their life is extraordinary, full of drama, a life that gives them countless stories to tell in their old age.
But how many can truly achieve this?
As a child, Duover grew up hearing "his father was a hero," and he even once asked his mother—
His mother had committed suicide when he was eight, he didn't know why, but he knew that when he returned home from school, he saw that woman hung from the ceiling fan, suspended in the living room.
Her head drooping, her face purplish-blue, a strange eeriness stared back at Duover as he entered the door; it terrified him.
