Tarou Fushigimi, who stood with an expression of pure disbelief in front of me, didn't even react to the words that could be taken as an insult.
Well, I didn't say it just to be offensive, but I really meant it.
This guy, who clearly hadn't been taking care of himself since he ran away, looked like a true bum; long and unkempt hair; uncut, filth-ridden fingernails, et cetera. Most of all, however...
I glanced at his left arm―or the space it used to occupy.
"The hospital couldn't fix you up?"
Saying that for no particular reason at all, I pushed him out of the way as I barged into the room.
It was a place just like the rest of the trashy building; decaying wood that made up all the furniture that could barely be called as such, probably infested floor that creaked with every step, and crumbling walls and ceiling within which the pitter-pattering traces of something like a family of rats could be heard.
