I surrender. I’ve already put everything into storage—so it’s all my fault, for that disgusting jealousy and my humble sense of self-respect. Seeing storage go up every day, hitting new highs every day.

But I’m hitting new lows every day. I directly threw down my armor and surrendered. Every time I see the moment the storage’s K-line chart candle appears, I’m drenched in sweat, freezing all over—depression instantly flares up. Life seems like it has no color anymore. It’s like a Saiyan with its tail caught, like a person who has the power of someone with Sea-Lord’s stone, like a Jinchuriki from whom the tailed beast has been extracted—like an Ultraman without light. But there’s an old saying in China: those who know what’s going on are the truly wise. A prodigal son turning back isn’t too late.

Family, I’m sorry—I did it. I became a traitor. I really can’t keep going with that old-deng stock anymore.