**Day 197**
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Tinjau, still dressed in a dazzling suit, now sported a pair of stylish black sunglasses. He sat confidently on a comfortable leather car seat, his left hand deftly shifting gears while his right hand forcefully turned the steering wheel. He slammed on the brakes, then floored the accelerator with a fierce kick, causing the car to execute a dramatic near-90-degree turn.
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The car's performance far exceeded Tinjau's expectations—it felt even more responsive than the arcade racing games he’d played. The sound of tires screeching against the ground and the roar of the modified exhaust pipe shocked and intoxicated every cell in his body.
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Tinjau was driving a Ferrari F598-S, a beta version—a transitional prototype of the F599 that had never been revealed to the public. Beside him sat Maria, clad in an elegant white gown, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with excitement. She clutched the seatbelt across her chest tightly, clearly reveling in the thrilling ride. Compared to the two pale-faced doctors and nurses in the backseat, who looked utterly terrified, Maria seemed far healthier.
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Initially, Tinjau had worried whether she could handle the intensity of riding shotgun in a Ferrari. But ever since he’d seen her at Walt Disney World in Florida, tirelessly playing ride after ride until everyone else collapsed—and she still begging for one last go while Tinjau, dizzy and stumbling, could barely walk straight—Tinjau began to suspect Maria might be the healthiest person among them.
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Girls are like that, though. Even when they’re too full to eat another bite, they can still manage dessert after dessert. A girl who’s afraid to ride a bicycle can somehow handle roller coasters and thrill rides without a hitch.
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Tinjau had almost circled Rio de Janeiro entirely. After getting on the highway and using the car’s superior performance to shake off two trailing Mercedes, he returned to the chaotic city center, weaving through narrow, secluded alleys. Just as he thought he’d lost them and let out a sigh of relief, the sound of a powerful engine approaching from behind.
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Mr. Gorky, personally driving his beloved Alfa Romeo, had come to intercept them.
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Tinjau accelerated without hesitation, but this time, it was not so easy to get rid of. Rumor had it that Mr. Gorky is a major investor in Rio, spent half of the year in this Latin city handling business—and his passion for racing was well-known. If it weren’t for Maria’s dream sketchbook, which held her longing for Rio, Tinjau would never have risked confronting Mr. Gorky here.
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Mr. Gorky wasn’t the type to tail someone passively—he found it beneath him. Intimately familiar with the road conditions, Mr. Gorky opted for shortcuts to block Tinjau’s way and limiting his options, forcing Tinjau to follow his predetermined route. Though Tinjau stayed ahead, he still felt restrained, toyed with. No matter which corner he turned, Mr. Gorky’s Alfa Romeo would inevitably emerge from a side street, leaving Tinjau no choice but to swerve down the only escape route available.
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After passed a small chapel, Tinjau suddenly realized he’d driven into a dead-end alley.
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It was exactly the trap Mr. Gorky had set.
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Smirking triumphantly, Mr. Gorky pulled into the alley. Sure enough, the red limited-edition Ferrari sat parked at the end. Through the rear window, he could see all four occupants still inside, frozen like statues.
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Approaching the driver’s side slowly and proudly like a victor, Mr. Gorky leaned down—only to discover that the “four people” were merely humanoid dummies, each painted with the word “loser” in four different languages.
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The four people in the car had long since fled.
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Of course, both Tinjau’s and Mr. Gorky’s cars were equipped with the latest GPS systems. But Mr. Gorky’s masterful pursuit skills left Tinjau with no choice but to drive into the dead-end despite knowing its location. However, this GPS proved invaluable to the large support team backing Tinjau. Anticipating he’d be forced into the alley, they immediately sent people to there to prepare.
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Suddenly, a rope ladder dropped from the wall at the alley’s end. Tinjau and the other three climbed up the ladder, leaping over the wall and immediately piling into a waiting Mini Cooper and sped away.
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Meanwhile, a few “LV” employees assisting Tinjau’s escape took advantage of the brief window before Mr. Gorky’s arrival to sneak into the Ferrari. They rigged the Ferrari’s interior with the dummies—not just to buy time, but to further provoke their opponent.
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Through a hidden camera atop the wall, Mr. Gorky’s expression when he was toyed with was broadcast live to every “LV” branch. Inside the Mini Cooper, equipped with a satellite receiver, Tinjau and his crew watched the rare moment unfold in real-time.
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Overjoyed, Tinjau stole a glance at Maria beside him. “Maria, do you think I went too far?” he asked tentatively.
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Maria smiled and shook her head—an understanding smile, layered with complex meaning that Tinjau understood because he’d long shared the same sentiment.
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“I get it,” he said. “It’s been a while since you last had this much fun playing with your father, right?”
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Maria’s smile widened radiantly.
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In the past 14 days, they’d visited 11 countries, fulfilling 9 of the wishes in her sketchbook. Each time, Mr. Gorky appeared at just the right moment to interfere, only to be outmaneuvered by Tinjau in the end—always a close call, but never a disaster.
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Though Mr. Gorky raged like a demon and pursued them with relentless intensity, he never leveraged political influence to mobilize local authorities or harmed anyone during the chases. Tinjau couldn’t help but wonder: was Mr. Gorky deliberately playing along? Maria, with her keen intuition, likely suspected the same, treating it as a game of hide-and-seek with her father.
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As he was thinking, the engine sound of Alfa Romeo appeared again. Mr. Gorky was resourceful—able to track them even after they’d switched cars and caught up so quickly. He must have his own team of strategists supporting this pursuit.
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Tinjau yanked the handbrake, wrenching the steering wheel to send the Mini-Cooper into a stylish drift, barreling into Rio’s famous civilian district.
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Given Mr. Gorky’s status, he’d never been to such area where civilians lived and knew nothing about the road conditions there. Forced to simply tail Tinjau, he tries to rely on his car’s superior performance to caught up with him.
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The horsepower of the Mini-Cooper cannot match that of the Alfa Romeo, but in the cramped alleys of the civilian area, a supercar’s raw acceleration was no match for the Mini-Cooper’s agility. With pedestrians crowding the streets, Mr. Gorky hesitated to floor it, wary of hitting someone darting out unexpectedly.
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Now it was Mr. Gorky’s turn to be led by Tinjau—exactly as Tinjau had planned.
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He drove into a bustling market, where women and children shopping for groceries didn’t rush to make way at the sight of the sleek cars. Instead, they paused to admire them. Both vehicles crawled through the market at a snail’s pace.
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Suddenly, a group charged toward Tinjau’s Mini-Cooper, dribbling soccer balls underfoot. Flipping somersaults and swaying their hips like a carnival parade, they danced with the soccer balls in pure joy. Their bare legs fearlessly leaped onto the roof of Tinjau’s car, then vaulted to Mr. Gorky’s car.
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Amid this chaos, they showcased all kind of jaw-dropping dribbling techniques—twisting their waists like samba dancers, controlling the ball with every part of their body, passing the ball in midair without letting it touch the ground, moving forward skillfully at breakneck speed.
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Driving luxury supercar through Rio’s narrow streets, watching vibrant youths perform magical soccer feats—this was Maria’s tenth dream from her sketchbook: a soccer carnival.
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Naturally, this was an orchestrated miracle, mobilized by “LV”’s global network. According to Cristiano, the free-spirited Latin community was a backbone of “LV,” with many retired pro footballers and related people among its members.
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This samba soccer spectacle, it was said, had the tacit approval—and perhaps discreet help—of Brazil’s current sports minister, the legendary “King Pelé,” a football hall-of-famer.
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(*Maria, did I made your dream come true? *) Tinjau kept his eyes on Maria’s reactions from time to time.
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“Tinjau! My turn to shine, right?” a bold and uninhibited voice sounded. One of the doctors from the Ferrari’s backseat had swapped out during the car switch.
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It was Van Eering, Siupui’s husband, now hefting a rocket launcher on his shoulder.
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“OK! Watch me!” Tinjau, addicted to drifting since he learned the skill, shows off his wild driving skills once more. The Mini-Cooper screeched to a halt and stopped sideways in the middle of the street, leaving two smoking black tire marks on the ground.
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Jiwing sprang out, rolling across the ground before he knelt on one knee, aiming his rocket launcher at the Alfa Romeo 20 meters away.
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Maria gripped Tinjau’s hand worriedly. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “It’s just a prank.”
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“Come on! Soccer buddies, please move your butts!” Jiwing fired a terrifyingly oversized missile, with no intention of waiting for anyone to dodge.
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The soccer players still around the Alfa Romeo dodged with somersault and ball tricks, as if they didn’t take this life-and-death situation seriously at all. Only Mr. Gorky, hair disheveled, scrambled out of his car in a panic.
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Staying inside would’ve been wiser for him.
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The missile struck the Alfa Romeo’s front bumper, exploding with a bang. Seconds later, the market was drenched in red concentrated tomato sauce.
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Those soccer players, clearly briefed, regrouped atop the Alfa Romeo, dribbling the balls and tossing tomato sauce at passersby. The fun-loving Brazilians joined in, turning it into a full-on tomato fight—leaving a drenched Mr. Gorky stunned in the middle.
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When Mr. Gorky snapped out of it, ready to resume the chase, Tinjau’s Mini Cooper was long gone. As he looked around, dazed, someone shouted his name. He turned around reflexively and was hit in the face by a blob of tomato sauce thrown by Jiwing.
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Tinjau had already planned the evening: dinner with Maria at Rio’s finest hotel, accompanied by the world’s most stunning seaside view.
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Pulling up to the hotel, Tinjau opened the door for Maria like a gentleman. But she was not able to get out of the car.
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At first, Tinjau thought the day’s excitement had left Maria’s legs trembling and she couldn’t stand up. Then he noticed her soaked skirt—Maria lost control due to her condition. She desperately attempted to move her lower body but was unable to do so.
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It was the second time in five days. Last time, the paralysis only lasted ten minutes before subsiding. This time, she needed urgent hospitalization.
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The diagnosis: surgery could no longer be delayed.
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**Day 198**
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Ever since Bianca told Siupui about Tinjau’s plan, she and her husband Jiwing had wanted to help. Planning their South American honeymoon, they work around Tinjau’s schedule to meet in Rio.
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Siupui stayed at “LV”’s Rio branch to provide backup, while Jiwing gleefully wielded his rocket launcher, targeting the ultra-rich people he hated the most—his peak moment being the pulpy tomato sauce splattered across Mr. Gorky’s face.
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Learning of Maria’s condition, Siupui and Jiwing rushed to the hospital immediately.
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It was Siupui’s first time seeing Tinjau in months, and she gasped. His cheeks were sunken, dark circles carved deep under his eyes, lips cracked, shoulders hunched with his neck stretched forward as if bearing a heavy load.
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“Tinjau… you…what happened to you?” Siupui asked.
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“Me? What’s wrong with me?”
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“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Jiwing said, hesitant to pat Tinjau’s shoulder for fear of knocking him over.
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“Don’t worry about me. Come, I’ll take you to see Maria.” Struggling to his feet, Tinjau led them to Maria’s room.
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Once seeing Maria, Tinjau immediately perked up, his exhaustion completely vanishing. Having told Maria about Siupui and Jiwing during tea party on the tree, Maria was thrilled to meet them in person, her curiosity shining through.
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After greetings, Tinjau proudly showed off Maria’s sketchbook, vividly recounting their thrilling two-week adventure to Siupui and Jiwing.
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From Paris to Japan, where Maria wore a kimono and served tea to Tinjau in true Japanese tea-ceremony style; to Siberia for snowball fights, then back to Beijing to see the Great Wall…
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From a travel perspective, the route was exhausting and inefficient, but Tinjau insisted on following the sketchbook’s order, turning each drawing into reality one by one.
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As he spoke excitedly, he’d glance at Maria with pride, and she’d meet his gaze, cheeks flushed, returning a blissful smile.
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Though Van Eering looked like a rough tough guy, he was surprisingly sensitive, has a keen insight into the atmosphere, he quickly bonding with Maria. Joking and sharing wild travel tales, he kept her captivated—likely to give Siupui and Tinjau some alone time.
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Siupui signaled Tinjau, who nodded, and they slipped out quietly. Talking to Siupui was what he craved most right now.
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They strolled along Rio’s famous beach, the endless sandy beach stretching before them. A gentle sea breeze blew on Siupui’s soft hair, its faint scent easing Tinjau’s taut nerves.
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“You know, Siupui, getting a hot-air balloon from Ireland to the center of Paris involves coordinating with countless departments across multiple countries—tangled power dynamics and factional struggles.”
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“The anonymous sponsors contacted by “LV” branch were minister-level figures or billionaires, lobbying furiously behind the scenes, possibly striking secret deals, just for a few hours of balloon trip can be facilitated.”
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“That’s nothing compared to what we pulled off in Paris.”
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“We cleared city hall hurdles and get them to allow private group to launch fireworks at 3 a.m. It could’ve disrupted the sleep of all Parisians and making them furious, enough to caused crisis and topple a government!
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“One of the sponsors, who worked in the media industry came up with an idea: Parisians love romance, so frame it as a citywide love gesture.
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“We bought out every TV ad slot that evening at unlimited cost, and within the limits allowed by broadcasting laws, we inserted as many advertisements as possible into the normal programs to promote what might be the biggest and most romantic firework show in history. It was a gamble, but fortunately Parisians bought it—within hours, tens of thousands rallied in support, creating positive buzz.
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“Then came sourcing fireworks, blockade the Eiffel Tower, anticipating Mr. Gorky’s interference and countering it, planning escape routes…
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“The Eiffel Tower was a dead end. Landing a balloon on its observation deck left us trapped if the ground was blocked. Our only out was by air—thankfully, the boss of the Virgin Atlantic swore he could pull it off with a small plane…”
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Tinjau unloaded on Siupui, a torrent of words about the past two weeks’ efforts to fulfill Maria’s dreams.
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“It was just her first dream in her sketchbook— ‘riding a hot-air balloon over Paris, watching fireworks under the moonlit Eiffel Tower’—behind it already was a colossal undertaking. And that wasn’t even the trickiest. Four days ago, in Mexico’s desert…”
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Siupui listened patiently, reminded of their first night when a drunk Tinjau rambled about his stifling office life in a bar corner.
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As he spoke, Tinjau seemed to realize it too. Blushing, he scratched his head sheepishly. “Feels like that night we met…”
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“Yeah, you noticed too?”
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“Maybe that’s why I’ve been so stubborn in past two weeks,” he admitted. “I wanted Maria to live her dreams, just like you brought me to “LV” and made mine come true.”
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“So, you’ll keep up this hellish journey, burning yourself out to weave innocent dreams for a girl?”
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“That’s where my stress comes from. I don’t mind the exhaustion—as long as I’m on the right path.”
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“What do you mean?”
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“Lately, a voice keeps nagging me: Are you really making Maria happy by doing all of this? Will fulfilling the last scene in her sketchbook could really complete all her wishes?”
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“Mind if I say something honest that might hurt?”
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“Go ahead.”
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“I kinda feel like these past two weeks of running wild weren’t really for Maria. You did it for yourself—to fight Mr. Gorky.”
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“…Is that so?” He shook his head. “I just simply wanted to give Maria what she wanted most. From her smiles, I know what I’ve given her these two weeks might not what she has been longing for. I want her show that smile again…”
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“Which smile?”
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“The one Maria gave me when we first met.” Tinjau recounted his encounter with Maria and everything about the tea party on the tree to Siupui.
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Siupui pondered, piecing together all his words with her impressions from visiting Maria just now, searching for a conclusion.
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“…I think I get it,” she said finally. “Tinjau, don’t you really know what Maria truly wants?”
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“What is it?” he asked anxiously.
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“Why should I tell you?” She stuck out her tongue. “Girls always stick together, right?”
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Three days later, Maria recovered enough to be able to walk. Beyond her legs, her senses were deteriorating— eyesight preserved only by heavy medication, taste and smell failing more often, severely affected her appetite.
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Even Tinjau considered abandoning the trip, but Maria insisted on going on. He still saw that glimmer of expectation for him in Maria’s eyes.
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He had to find a way to meet her expectation.
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But time was running out to complete all the wishes in Maria’s sketchbook. Her body could only handle one more destination at most.
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Though it felt forced, Tinjau relentlessly pushed Puisam, who was working tirelessly.
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Two days later, Maria improved slightly, and Puisam’s progress seemed solid as well.
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Tinjau decided it was time to set off.
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He took Maria back to the small Irish town where they’d met.
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**Day 204**
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“Maria! Don’t be afraid! Just trust me and hold my hand tight. Yes, go this way—watch your head! No peeking yet! Come here! Over this way! Here we are—turn around. Ready? I’m going to take off your blindfold!”
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As the blindfold was taken off, Maria was shocked to found herself in a house made entirely of biscuits, bread, and candy.
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“Maria, this is the tenth dream that I fulfilled for you.” He bowed gallantly. She tried to curtsy back but, her legs were too weak, and she lost her balance.
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When Maria was about to fall, Tinjau rushed forward and catching her just in time.
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Holding her close, Tinjau waltzed very slowly, letting her savor the candy house’s wonder and beauty.
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Maria’s face flushed, eyes gleaming, heart racing—she was visibly ecstatic.
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Tinjau swiped some cream from the wall with his finger, offering it to Maria, letting her taste the sweetness. Maria tasted it, but her expression didn’t change—she couldn’t sense the sweetness.
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Licking his finger clean, Maria nibbled it gently, her heartbeat seemed quickening.
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The teasing bite sent a jolt through Tinjau.
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He finally understood Maria’s true wish.
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Maria didn’t care about going to any corner of the world or experiencing whatever beautiful wonder. She just wanted to be with Tinjau, no matter where they went.
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It was love at first sight, destined from their very first encounter.
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“Maria, I have a gift for you.” Tinjau pulled out the gift from his pocket that he’d never had the chance to give her.
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It is a small and delicate hairpin.
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“Remember, Maria? That afternoon we met, when you leaned out from the second floor, watching me crash my bike into a tree? Your long hair caught the sunlight, that scene and your charm piercing straight into my heart.”
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Tinjau ran his hands tenderly through Maria’s hair.
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“Since then, every time we met, I couldn’t stop noticing your hair. I had this overwhelming urge to cherish it, to kiss it.”
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Tinjau tucked Maria’s long hair behind her ear, ran his fingertips back and forth along the outline of her ear.
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“Later, I realized what truly captivated me was the fragile, snowy neck beneath that soft hair—the mature allure you exude as a woman, stealing my heart.”
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He clipped the hairpin in place, then leaned in, kissing her earlobe, trailing down her neck to her collarbone, and back to her ear.
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Maria blushed deeply, breathing heavily. Scared but unresisting.
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“Maria, I’m sorry I couldn’t face my feelings for you. I kept insisting—to you, to myself, to everyone—that I was just like your brother. I regret it now. I can’t bear this distance anymore. Maria, can my heart reach yours?”
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Tears welling, Maria bit her lip and nodded, closing her eyes, waiting…
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They kissed.
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Reluctantly their lips parting, Maria’s flush spread from her ears to her shoulders.
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She smiled at him.
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It was exactly the smile Tinjau longed for.
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Carrying her downstairs from the second floor to the “Ghost” bakery’s storefront, Tinjau found Puisam, Martha, and Vera holding hands, blocking the stairs.
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Confrontation with them was Mr. Gorky, who’d tracked them down into the bakery.
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Dressed as impeccably as they first met, Mr. Gorky stubborn arrogance remained—though after all the chases, Tinjau found his expression almost endearing.
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“Maria, your father’s here to get you,” he said. “You’re ready, right?”
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She looked into his eyes, nodding firmly.
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He offered his pinky. She hooked hers around it, holding tight until he handed her to her father.
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That promise spoke volumes.
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Examining his daughter, “being kidnapped” for two weeks, Mr. Gorky felt heartbroken for her worsening condition. Yet, in her resolute gaze, he saw something he’d never dared to hope for.
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He sensed she might endure what her mother couldn’t.
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Without a glance at anyone else, Mr. Gorky carried Maria out of the bakery. Medics swarmed, loading her into an ambulance…
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Tinjau kept watching the ambulance drive away.
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“Tinjau…” Martha had countless questions in her mind.
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“My mission was accomplished.” He stretched. “Now it’s Mr. Gorky’s turn to step up.”
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“Is Uncle Lev part of ‘LV’’s network too?” Vera asked. “So, these two weeks, he was deliberately—”
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“I don’t know. He’d definitely deny it, given his pride,” Tinjau said. “But when Maria was hospitalized in Rio, he could’ve found us easily. He didn’t. That’s when I started seeing him differently.”
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Puisam silently held Tinjau’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder, gazing the direction where the ambulance was going.
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**Day 209**
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Three days later, Tinjau told Puisam he wanted to continue his journey. As expected, Puisam didn’t hold him back or ask to join.
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“Shortly after you took Maria, I got an interview with a magazine. Now, people come from Dublin daily to buy cheesecake at ‘Ghost,’ and investors contacted me and want to franchise the bakery there…”
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“Congrats on your dream finally come true.”
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“Sadly, without you, ‘Ghost’ not able to make surprising bread anymore.” She bit her lip, holding back tears. “I can’t make bread like yours. Never will.”
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“I’ll come back to see you.”
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“Yeah.” She wiped her eyes. “Bring your wife and kids next time.”
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“Maybe I’ll come alone.”
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“Then stay a few days, drink with my future husband, teach my boy how to do his homework…”
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“If you’re still alone…”
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“No way… impossible… don’t be so cruel!” She broke down. “I won’t wait for you!”
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“Sorry, Puisam.” He wiped her tears. “My journey’s not over. There’s still stuff I have to do…”
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“Go… don’t look back… don’t stare at me like that!” She threw herself into his arms. With what might be their most passionate kiss in their life, they burned up every longing, attachment, memory, and hope…
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After parting with Puisam and the Quinns couple at “Ghost,” this Irish town suddenly become a strange place again.
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Tinjau was just a stranger passing through this strange land.
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Martha and Vera, hating goodbyes, had said they wouldn’t see him off at the airport. But someone was waiting him at the airport.
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Mr. Gorky.
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“Why not visit Maria?” he asked, dropping his pride for once, almost pleading.
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“I don’t deserve to.” Tinjau looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I told an unforgivable lie to the purest girl. I can’t face her anymore.”
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“She’ll forgive you when she’s grows up.”
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“I don’t expecting it.” Passing Mr. Gorky, he paused before he going to step into the restricted area as Mr. Gorky called out again.
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“Don’t you want to know why I was so desperate for Maria’s surgery back then?”
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Tinjau turned, facing Mr. Gorky’s weathered face.
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“What you did for Maria these past two weeks—I did for my wife when we were young.” Mr. Gorky clenched his fists, suppressing emotion. “We were so naive, believing in miracles. When the doctor said the surgery failed and she died in agony, my faith in ‘love’ shattered.”
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“So now, am I lucky enough to see your decades-old inner barrier finally crumble, making you human again?”
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Mr. Gorky didn’t answer.
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“I regret not taking Maria to see Egypt’s pyramids. It was in her sketchbook.” Entrusting his last concern to Mr. Gorky, Tinjau entered the restricted zone of the airport.
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