"Cough!"
The old man spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the grass and leaves beneath his feet; he took a drag of his cigarette, squinting as he scrutinized the approaching Roger.
"I'm not."
"Then who are you?"
The old man retorted.
Roger took out his identification, and upon seeing the photo and the steel stamp, the old man's gaze tightened, becoming more cautious.
"Has something happened around here?"
The old man asked somewhat worriedly.
He felt his hunting rifle, "I just come up to the mountain occasionally, this isn't a no-hunting zone, is it?"
Roger smiled, "Don't worry, I'm only here to investigate some matters related to the White Apricot Tree Camp."
Hearing this, the old man relaxed considerably.
"Do you live nearby?"
"Are you familiar with this camp?"
Roger inquired.
"How could I not be? Every year, the camp recruits people from around here, and I once worked here for quite a long time."
"Mainly responsible for taking the kids here on outdoor activities,"
