(2 days before the fight, Leo's POV)
With just two days left before the day of the fight, Leo's hope of experiencing a sudden breakthrough had begun to fade.
His understanding of the color red had deepened a little more each day, especially ever since he began dissecting the reasons behind why people killed—what pushed them, what anchored their rage, what drove their hand to spill blood.
But despite his growing insights, he was still far too slow.
He had yet to glimpse even the faintest trace of his first intent line.
And he was running out of time.
"Well, you know what they say, son. Sometimes in life, you need to take a step back to take three steps forward," Charles said, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he tried his best to motivate Leo.
"Who? Who says that?" Leo asked with his eyebrow raised, as Charles exhaled, the gray smoke slowly rolling out as a faint smirk played on his lips.
