He should be happy.

He had made a concoction that would cure cancer completely, killing all of the cancer cells.

But he was not.

Because the concoction he made did not only kill the cancer cells but all of the living cells inside the body.

And to make it worse, the concoction was already spread worldwide.

His wife was already dead.

Dead by his hands.

It's all his fault.

By tomorrow, everyone would be dead.

He looked at the newly-made concoction at his hands.

A potion that would stop the effects of the previous one.

But the problem is, it was only a small dose, just enough for two people.

To mass produce it means that it would not be available to the public before they all die.

'Is it worth it to live alone in this world?

A world that is once full of life?

Yes, I could have all the riches that I want.

But is it really worth it?'

He looked at his sleeping son and decided.

'Tomorrow, I will bring both of us to the park.

We will spend the last of our time happily.

Together.

One last time.'