Paris, December 20, 2025. Five days before the Celestial Tournament.
"…" Vergil stopped in front of the establishment. Unlike months ago when he had only come to meet that woman, the flower shop was completely abandoned, if we could call it that; it seemed quite run-down. Just like the goddess who ran it.
But now? That place seemed to have changed completely.
Now it was possible to see the elegance of classic lines, painted in dark, almost bluish tones, which contrasted with the explosion of life around it.
Cascades of purple bougainvillea descended from above, embracing the window display and spreading as if nature had reclaimed the place for itself.
In front, ceramic vases and wooden crates displayed a variety of lush green plants, arranged with almost artistic care. Through the large glass windows, the street trees and the soft daylight were reflected, while discreet words suggested that this was not just a shop, but a quiet refuge in the middle of Paris.
