Should I talk about the irony of fate? That expression we use when life throws unexpected twists our way. The irony of fate is when the universe toys with us, mere mortals, whose only wish is to live a peaceful, happy life, free from suffering. But of course, there are people like me—people who seem to fit perfectly into what we call "cursed." I don't say this out of mere self-pity. Some might argue that I'm being unfair, that life eventually balances itself out. But in my eyes, that's nothing more than naive optimism. Let me put it this way: my ancestors were among the first researchers on Earth to study cancer. Since then, my family has led the academic world, making breakthrough after breakthrough. Wealthy, influential, filled with masters and doctors at the forefront of medical science. My parents own the largest pharmaceutical corporation on the planet. Titans of industry, geniuses in business, surrounded by the most advanced medical resources humanity has ever seen. And that's where fate's cruel joke begins. When my mother gave birth to me, she suffered complications that forced her to have a hysterectomy. And I—her only son, Glenn Hughes, heir to the greatest pharmaceutical empire in the world—was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of eight. Funny how fate plays with people, isn't it? By the time I was one, I could already speak two languages: English and Spanish. They diagnosed me with linguistic prodigy syndrome. At three, my IQ was measured at 199. According to the doctor's own words: "Your son has a higher IQ than the current world chess champion, Garry Kasparov." At six, I was diagnosed with emotional detachment. "He's the smartest child I've ever seen, but it might be wise to consult a psychologist. Kids with such high intelligence often struggle to relate to 'normal' people." Then came the day that changed everything. At eight years old, skipping grades faster than any other student, my world was turned upside down. A sharp, unbearable pain twisted my stomach, I vomited blood, and then—darkness. When I woke up, I was lying in a luxurious hospital bed. "We ran some tests on Glenn... His condition is serious." Dr. Hoff's hands trembled as he held the papers. Standing before him were two people who seemed almost detached from human emotion—my parents, the two most powerful billionaires in the pharmaceutical industry. Fifty percent of that hospital's medicine came from our company. "The preliminary results show abnormalities in his blood. We need further testing," the doctor continued. "Do whatever it takes to cure my son, doctor. Spare no effort, no expense," my mother pleaded, her voice breaking. In the end, the results brought nothing but a decade of suffering. Leukemia—a type of bone marrow cancer that primarily affects the blood. Remember when I mentioned fate's twisted sense of humor? This was it. The very disease that had propelled my family to unimaginable success... was now killing me. Acute Myeloid Leukemia. A disease that had been devouring me from the inside out, faster than anyone expected. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes. We've tried everything: chemotherapy, radiation, immunotherapy..." Despite the air conditioning, Dr. Hoff was sweating as he delivered the news. "We've used every available treatment over the years, but nothing has worked. Unfortunately, neither of you is a match for a bone marrow transplant. He has no siblings. Even his cousins were tested, but there were no compatible donors. I regret to inform you... Glenn has, at most, ten months to live." My parents wept. But me? I only felt regret. Regret for the nine years I spent locked inside sterile, lifeless hospitals. Rage at the endless side effects of the medication I was forced to take. Loneliness—because I never had true friends. The few I made were ripped away as I was moved from one hospital to another, across the world. What a miserable existence. The perfect son—high IQ, good-looking, well-mannered, heir to a global empire—completely ruined by a disease that ironically made my family who they are today. Today marks ten days since my eighteenth birthday. I was treated aggressively for three years, from eight to eleven. Then, at eleven, Dr. Hoff gave me ten months to live. Those ten months turned into _seven years_ of agony. Seven years strapped to IV drips, my body weakened and dependent on an endless stream of vitamins and supplements. 'Finally, this damned body is giving up. Stubborn bastard.' I always had the feeling that something inside me was clinging to life more than was humanly possible. People called me a miracle for lasting so long. 'It was never a miracle. Just an extended torture session finally coming to an end. My only regret? Dying a virgin. With all this money, I should've at least experienced that before kicking the bucket.' My eyelids grew heavy. My body burned as if someone had lit a fire inside me, consuming my organs, already decayed from metastasis. My last bits of strength slipped away. 'At least I get to die in my own bed. Comfortable. Surrounded by the only things that ever truly kept me company—books, games, and, of course, my medications.' They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. For me? There wasn't much to see. Just darkness. Total, absolute darkness. 'I can't feel my hands... my arms... my legs. Not even my breath.' I searched for that _light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, I felt a shiver run through my soul. 'They say there's supposed to be a light. But I see two.' Within that void, two glowing dots emerged, coming closer and closer. At first, my vision was too unfocused to make sense of them. But after an indeterminate time drifting in nothingness, I finally realized— "What the hell... those look like golden eyes staring at me!" Sёarᴄh the NôvelFire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And they _were_. Two glowing orbs of gold closed in until they were right in front of my face. They stared into me. I felt it. They saw me, reaching into parts of my soul I didn't even know existed. It was surreal. I couldn't make out a body, no silhouette—just those two piercing golden eyes. Then— A sudden _plunge._ I was falling. A free-fall into the abyss, into the unknown. I don't know how long I fell, only that it felt endless—until, at last, I landed. Somewhere. And then, I opened my eyes. This time—real, physical eyes.