In the four hours before the interview, they didn't rush anywhere.

  They walked beneath the old town's stone arcades.

  Stopped at the Zytglogge as the figures marked the hour.

  Watched the Aare curve around the city like a quiet green ribbon.

  Paused near the Federal Palace as fountains burst from the ground in playful rhythm, children laughing as they ran between the streams.

  They walked slowly, without purpose.

  From time to time, Maria glanced at her son and smiled — not because of anything he said, but simply because he was there. Walking beside her. Close enough to hear his steps. Close enough to know he was real and present in this moment.

  She didn't need conversation. His presence was enough.

  They entered a small café near the old center.

  Chocolate cake. Dense and rich.

  Tea. Warm, slightly bitter.

  Angelo ate without hurry, watching the evening light drift across the window. Outside, people passed by — laughing, talking, living their small, ordinary lives.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  For a while, that was all that mattered.

  Less than an hour remained.

  They headed toward Kultur Casino Bern.

  Inside, two hundred of the strongest Life Without End players were already gathering.

  Some knew the Bloody Emperor only as a legend.

  Some admired him.

  Some resented his name.

  And some didn't even understand why his reputation still carried such weight — why people spoke of him with tension in their voices.

  Tyrant.

  Threat.

  Monster.

  It wasn't just an audience.

  It was expectation, thick behind closed doors.

  A few streets before the entrance, Angelo stopped at a small flower stand.

  "Mom, wait here. I'll be right back."

  He was already speaking to the vendor.

  "Do you have bouquets of one hundred and one roses?"

  "Of course."

  "Then make me one."

  Rose after rose was placed together — deep red, almost black.

  Angelo paid with Apple Pay, took the bouquet, and returned.

  Maria stood there, slightly confused.

  He handed it to her.

  "This is for you."

  She blinked.

  "Angelo… why?"

  He met her eyes calmly.

  "For my mother. The only person who truly cares about me."

  Her cheeks warmed.

  "One hundred and one roses. One hundred and one years of our bond. Maybe more. Maybe infinity."

  He said it simply. Not as a gesture. Not as a performance.

  Just as something obvious.

  "Thank you," she whispered. "I appreciate this. And I appreciate you."

  She held the bouquet a little closer.

  Half an hour later, they stood near the entrance.

  No rush.

  No noise.

  Just that quiet feeling before something begins.

  Tonight, history wasn't being remembered.

  It was about to step forward.