Even in a city like Istra with its tens of millions of people, pediatric transplants were relatively rare because donors were so scarce.

Most successful transplants involved family members or relatives. Even in cases with non-related donors, the recipients had often been on a waiting list for a long time, and the source of the donation was traceable.

There was only one case that stood out: a boy named John, who was around the same age as Hans and had the same blood type. He had been admitted to the hospital after a sudden injury that ruptured his liver, requiring an emergency transplant to save his life.

However, his mother had a fatty liver, and his father and other relatives were not compatible matches.

Normally, a child in his situation would have to wait, hoping for a suitable donor liver to become available. But in most cases, that wait could last for years, and many patients died waiting.

Yet, less than two weeks after being admitted, John found a suitable liver and underwent a successful transplant. The timing of his surgery was almost identical to the time of Hans' death.

Most importantly, this boy, John, was Yolanda's cousin.

With that, the whole truth was laid bare.

Hans was hospitalized for burns. Unable to afford the medical bills, his parents turned to the Rogers family, who had initially manipulated them. The Rogers family arranged for his treatment at their private hospital. Under normal circumstances, Hans should have recovered and been discharged.

But the boy was tragically unlucky. During his hospitalization, Yolanda's cousin John suffered an accident that ruptured his liver, requiring a transplant.

While searching for a donor, Oscar came across Hans. His age, blood type, and other conditions were a perfect match. On top of that, he was from a poor family with no money, power, or connections. He was the perfect target.

However, they had underestimated the love Hans' parents had for their child. They refused to be silenced, fighting to reclaim their son's body and reporting it to the police, determined to get justice for their murdered son.

Sadly, in the end, they did not get the justice they sought.

Two days later was Hans' funeral.

Yvonne and Sandra both attended.

The funeral wasn't deserted. Howard's coworkers and their current neighbors all came to pay their last respects.

These people were not wealthy, but they were sincere and kind, full of a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold-bloodedness of the so-called upper class.

Yvonne brought a stack of Superman comics and placed them, one by one, beside Hans' picture.

Sandra had even gone to Hans' school to collect his old textbooks and workbooks, bringing them to the service for him.

Howard stood before his son's memorial portrait, tears streaming down his face.

"My son was always a smart, diligent boy. So obedient and well-behaved. He always said he would study hard, make a lot of money, and buy a big house for his mother and me... We failed it I hope in his next life, he's bor into a good family... We don't deserve to be his parents?"

By the end, Howard was sobbing uncontrollably.

Tracy sat beside Hans' open casket, staring at her son, alternating between crying and smiling.

“Honey, come look. Why isn't our son waking up? Is he still mad at me for hitting him that one time?"

The shock of her son's death was too much for her; Tracy's mind had clearly fractured.

“No, no. He's just tired from studying so much lately. Let him sleep a little longer. Don't wake him," Howard said, trying to soothe his wife.

Seeing this, Sandra turned to

Howard with concern. "Your wifet

doesn't see

to be doing well. After to be doing

the funeral you should really take

her to a doctor."

"I know,” Howard said, wiping the tears from his face and nodding.