The sun was bright, the air fresh, and the swallows chirped alongside the orioles' calls.
Such a poetic morning marked a perfect beginning to the day, inspiring beautiful musings and expectations for the work and life to commence.
It truly was a perfect morning.
Roland alone was estranged from its charm.
His facial muscles tensed, bloodshot eyes fixed on the tent's ceiling as his limbs gradually transitioned from stiffness to numbness, then to spasms—somewhat akin to the experience of the concealment and sniping courses at military school, yet the mental pressure far surpassed anything endured during "Hell Week."
After all, the instructor would place bugs on your face, tuck mines under your stomach, or light a pack of explosives on your back, but they would never resort to this—
"Mmm... big brother, when can we have a baby~~~~~~hmm hmm hmm..."
