Nothing seemed to be seriously wrong.
It wasn't until he opened his shirt that he saw the numerous scars adorning his body.
After all, it had only been half a month since he was severely injured, so he hadn't healed completely. Casio needed to be cautious with his fragile body.
He hadn't thought for long before a steady footstep echoed from outside the room, and the door opened with a creak. A small old man walked in.
A slanted stream of morning sunlight entered through the partially opened window, casting large, golden patches on the brown floor and the white bed. Dust particles floated haphazardly within the beam of light.
Casio looked upward at his visitor.
The man was thin with prominent cheekbones, sunken eyes, and a lackluster appearance.
His hair, a mix of black and white, resembled withered grass, giving him a bit of a disheveled look. His clothing was earth-toned and simple – at a glance, he could easily be mistaken for an old farmer.
