"Stay with us, sir! We've got you!" urged the paramedic, his voice filled with urgency.Drake's vision blurred as his consciousness wavered. The world around him felt disjointed and surreal, almost like a fevered dream."No... no..." Drake whispered, the words barely audible.A paramedic kneeled beside Drake, carefully assessing the wound on his chest. Another paramedic stood over him, frantically trying to apply pressure to the wound."We need to stabilize this wound now!"As Drake's consciousness began to slip away, the crowd of hotel personnel and paramedics continued their efforts to save him. Their voices and actions seemed distant and hazy, as if part of a dream. Drake felt an overwhelming sense of detachment from the world around him."I can't just... die like this," he thought, his mind racing as he pictured his sister's face.Meanwhile, the mysterious miniature temple remained bathed in radiant light, a mystifying presence amid the chaos. It stood there, untouched by the fran

At a funeral home, the largest chapel was filled with mourners, all dressed in black, gathered to pay their respects to Drake Chwe.The front of the room held his urn, encircled by wreaths of flowers, with a cheerful photo of him propped on an easel nearby.Drake's aunt, Rebecca Luansing, stood at the front of the room, addressing the gathered guests."Drake was an extraordinary person, full of life and energy. He touched all our lives in ways we can't even begin to describe. We'll miss him terribly," Aunt Beck said with teary eyes.Aunt Beck covered her face, making it seem like she was really crying, but in reality, she just wanted to hide her irritated expression."Why are there so many people here? I don’t think Drake had many people who cared for him like this. If he did, he wouldn't have been so overwhelmed by his problems before becoming rich," she grumbled inwardly.She peeked through her fingers and observed the mourners across the room. Some were genuinely weeping, while othe

Drake's hands were sweaty, and his eyes remained glued to his phone. He messaged his men for the fifth time, anxiously checking their location."Any updates?" he asked."We're still on the move, sir," his hired men replied.Drake clicked his tongue, his patience running thin. He desperately wanted to keep an eye on them using the "Otherworldly CCTV" item on the tribute system, but it required specific location details to function."Why are they taking so long? Should I go out too?" he wondered, but the memory of the danger he faced at the Navi hotel kept him in his penthouse."Boss, they've booked a flight," his men reported."To where?”"Canman."Drake scowled. The only people he knew who might want him dead were the folks at Bellrox Corp. Besides them, he couldn't think of anyone holding a grudge against him or wishing him harm."Merlyn definitely can't afford to hire someone to kill me, and the one who escaped the trial couldn't either. Also, Marcus is in prison now. Who? Who would

In a spacious, minimalist office, Rebecca Luansing was buried in paperwork. Her hands moved as fast as her mouth. She grumbled and cursed at the overwhelming workload, but there was no one to vent to because she was her own boss."Wow, just wow. I've got a boatload of cash, like seriously loads of it! And I have to keep grinding!" she said with sarcasm, speed-reading some accounting reports. "I'm fixing the mess left behind by the past boycott, hunting for new suppliers and manufacturers. I also have to keep up with the public, deal with that crazy witch Linda, and babysit her kids. Man, I'm exhausted, really damn tired."Despite her continuous complaints, she kept on working.The success of DearBeak Co. and Drake's investment had brought such a significant change to her life that she realized she shouldn't complain about it."Excuse me, ma'am," Kian, one of Aunt Beck's executive secretaries, approached her."What?" she responded irritably."Sir Christian Luansing is here."Aunt Beck'

The modern and spacious lobby of DearBeak Co. was abuzz with activity, as employees scurried back and forth, buried in stacks of paperwork and glued to their computers. The ambiance was anything but dull and formal, but that was about to change.A man entered who immediately captured everyone's attention, drawing their eyes like a magnet. Tall and striking, he exuded a confident swagger in his stride. His outfit alone was enough to elicit dropped jaws. Drake, now adopting the persona of "Arnold Cure," had tossed subtlety out the window."Ugh, his clothes are blinding, but why does he pull them off so well?" one employee quipped."He's surprisingly stylish, even if his hot pink suit is a bit much for this office," another chimed in."Who is he, anyway?"Drake, or rather Arnold Cure, sported a hot pink suit that could be spotted from a distance. It was impeccably tailored, hugging his frame as though it were made specifically for him. Each step he took seemed to proclaim his presence, a