Though Doug was a formidable martial artist, even weakened by a serious illness, he could still sit up in one swift motion and brush aside Figo's hand as he moved to help.
Doug smiled. "Don't be so serious. Nobody gets to escape dying of old age. Eighty-eight is a ripe old age. Nine years ago, I finally threw off the label of coward, and now I have no regrets. Smile, Xiaoya. Smile, Figo."
Miya managed to force a smile, but Figo wouldn't play along. "That strained smile looks worse than crying. It's more awkward, if anything. Forget it, Teacher Doug. We're both in our forties, not little kids. You don't have to comfort us like this. We're not going to burst into tears over you."
"You little brat!" Doug laughed.
"How did you suddenly get sick? We spoke on the phone just last month. Did someone tell you some story that upset you?" Figo asked.
Doug's gaze shifted to the young man standing by the window. Miya and Figo weren't the only ones in the hospital room. Doug's only family was there too: Kong, a genius who had graduated from the Elite Training Camp and been made a colonel at just twenty.
The last time Figo had seen him, he'd been a cute, polite little three-year-old. Now, at twenty, the young Kong already had the makings of the future Steel Bone Kong. He was broad-shouldered and tall, standing at 2.6 meters—only a little shorter than Figo in his usual form, with room to grow taller still.
But perhaps he'd entered his rebellious phase. Unlike when he was little, he didn't greet Figo when they met. He'd only given a perfunctory nod when Figo entered the room. Judging by the old man's instinctive glance, could Kong's illness really have something to