"What?" At that moment, time stopped for Taras.
His lips parted as if to release a storm, ready to object to what Treasure had just said—but then, for the first time, Taras hesitated, unsure of what to say. "…"
Was Le An saying that he had accepted all the anger and hatred Taras had thrown at him—and even thought the same way as him?
Le An's quiet sobbing only grew quieter as he looked at Taras's frozen expression. For a moment, he frowned, because instead of the cold satisfaction or sense of righteousness he had expected to see on Taras's face, there was something else—something that looked even angrier.
"All of this…" Le An's eyes burned, and he closed them as if his tear ducts had run dry, rubbing one with the back of his hand. "Everything is my—"
Taras cut him off, unable to bear any more of what he considered nonsense. "What are you talking about?" he snapped, grabbing the hand Le An had raised to his face and forcing it down.
