"I'm sorry—I told you to rest earlier, but now I'm asking you to come down."
Ralf patted Sorn on the shoulder, but Sorn immediately brushed his hand away. Letting out a dramatic ouch, Ralf acted as though Sorn had hurt him, even though Sorn hadn't struck him with any force.
"What's this 'Green Room'?" Sorn couldn't help but ask. The name didn't sound scary at all—if anything, green was a calming color. Still, he knew better than to trust someone he didn't know too easily.
"It's Hilda's room. My doctor. I talked with her earlier, and she said she wants to see you right away."
"I'm not sick," Sorn replied. The only pain he had was from being punched by the guy standing next to Ralf—the idiot in uniform who had just confessed his liking for men.
Noticing Sorn's brief glance, the guy in uniform nervously scratched his head.
"Ugh, I'm sorry... Ah, you know I got punished by the leader for hitting your face! And I do feel kinda bad... forgive me, okay?"
The punch did hurt, but it wasn't something to cry about. Sorn touched his cheek and winced slightly without realizing it. Seeing this, Ralf threw a sharp glare at the uniformed guy, who bowed his head even lower.
"I punched you too," Sorn quietly said. In retrospect, during their fight, they had both thrown punches. "You don't need to apologize."
It wasn't something worth making a big deal out of, but it seemed Ralf still couldn't accept the fact that there were bruises on Sorn's face. Strange guy, Sorn thought, or maybe that's just how his fans normally feel? Could be.
Back then, before he became a child model, whenever he walked with his mother, no one could resist looking at his face. Adults would approach to get a better look at him, offering compliments—the same positive words he kept hearing over and over again, which always made his mother's mood brighten, pleased to hear people praise her child.
One thing Sorn noticed was that every time they smiled and admired his face, no one dared to touch him, not even with the tip of their fingers, as if they were afraid to. It was as if they considered Sorn akin to a piece of art in a museum—something to be admired from a safe distance, forbidden to touch, to avoid tainting the authenticity of the painting's lines and colors. His mother's delight felt as if she were the artist who had created that masterpiece.
His mother's behavior became more extreme when Sorn eventually became a child model. She was meticulous in crafting Sorn's image as if he were a prince from a fairy tale. With his straight platinum blonde hair, pale skin, heterochromatic eyes, and naturally blushed cheeks, his face resembled a porcelain doll. It didn't require much effort, as Sorn's natural beauty effortlessly conveyed the prince-like image she desired.
Makeup artists were required to sterilize their hands to avoid damaging his skin, and there wasn't much they needed to change about Sorn's appearance. If his mother noticed even the smallest scratch on Sorn's skin, she would not hesitate to erupt in fury and blame anyone who was around him at that time.
Yet, sometimes it was Sorn himself who unwittingly caused small injuries to his skin—he was human, not a doll, and he still had nails on his fingers, so it was impossible for him not to scratch himself reflexively when he felt itchy.
"....."
Sorn adjusted his mask and looked at the back of the strange man. His hair was so thick that it swayed with each step he took.
"Strange man," he muttered unconsciously, his mumbling caught by the stupid uniformed man, who glanced back, pointing at himself with a questioning look as if to ask if the remark was directed at him.
Frowning, Sorn exhaled, "Nothing," and shook his head.
They continued down the spiral staircase, until they finally stopped in front of a green door. Was this why the room was called the 'green room'?
From the design of the building, Sorn assumed it might have been an old boarding house, given the numerous doors and stairs. However, he didn't know for sure. It was also quite possible that the so-called leader had renovated the place to make it more suitable as a hideout.
Ralf opened the door, and the three of them entered. Sorn squinted momentarily as he noticed the lighting in the room was brighter compared to the outside. The room looked exactly like a doctor's office, with large transparent shelves filled with various bottles and medical boxes whose uses were unknown to Sorn, a patient bed, and a woman in glasses sitting and typing something on her laptop. When Ralf approached, her hands paused.
She glanced at the three men currently in her room.
Sorn tried to recall the only woman Ralf had mentioned, who was a doctor—Hilda. It was quite rare to see a woman in areas other than the refugee camp.
"So... the man wearing the mask is Mad Lucifer? Good for you, you managed to bring him here."
"Yes, um, actually, Dean brought him here after he fainted."
"What? Why didn't you bring him to me first?!"
"You were busy with your research in the red room. I couldn't disturb you while you were working. You were the one who asked me to promise not to call you when handling research subjects... Luckily, it seems he's just tired. I was considering forcefully dragging you to his room if his condition had been worse."
"Shit, you're right... I haven't slept since yesterday! Ah, even now my head feels like it's going to explode!"
The woman adjusted her glasses, stood up, and walked over to Sorn.
She observed Sorn from head to toe, raising an eyebrow. "I expected someone called Mad Lucifer to look intimidating, but what is this? You look like an ordinary man."
Hearing this, Dean swiftly waved his hand, indicating that he completely disagreed with Hilda's comment. "You should see him in action, Hilda. My whole body got chills watching how quickly he took down zombies."
Hilda gave a faint, warm smile, though her tired eyes were evident from the dark circles beneath them. Despite this, she still looked beautiful. She approached Sorn more closely, circling around him before stopping right in front of him. Sorn remained silent, unsure of what to say in this situation."
"Can I trust you, Mad Lucifer? If Ralf wants you so badly, I can't protest... but sometimes it's hard for me to trust someone I've just met."
"I can't force you to change your opinion of me," Sorn replied curtly, his tone flat.
"You're right. I just don't want everything I've worked for over the years to be ruined by someone who can't control their mouth. Well..." Hilda turned and walked toward the bed, patting it. "Could I see your face so I can examine you? I'm curious about how hard Dean hit you."
For a moment, Sorn noticed a menacing look in Hilda's eyes as she gave him a warning. It wasn't surprising; a woman who could survive in a place full of men in this apocalyptic world, where the female population was dwindling, certainly wasn't someone to be easily underestimated.
"I don't think it's necessary to check me," Sorn said. Besides, wasn't it odd for him to be the only one examined when the man in uniform also had a bruised face? Was it special treatment for newcomer? "I thought there was something to discuss. Don't tell me Ralf brought me here just for a check-up?"
"Oh my god!"
The three people in the room, aside from Ralf, who had just yelled, were extremely startled. Ralf jumped around Sorn with a wide grin, lifting his hands as if in a joyful mood. He stood next to Sorn, tilting his head onto Sorn's shoulder, which Sorn quickly shifted to avoid.
"Finally, hehe, you just said my name! You said my name! Say it again!"
As Sorn widened the distance between them by two steps, Ralf took three steps closer. Sorn kept trying to avoid him, but Ralf persistently stayed beside him, though he was polite enough not to touch him.
The three people in the room simultaneously frowned in disgust at Ralf's behavior.
Sorn was initially startled by the man's sudden loud scream and almost reflexively checked his pocket—a habit of keeping a knife in his left pocket for potential danger. But the man was apparently just excited because Sorn had mentioned his name for the first time. What a dork.
It seemed Dean and Hilda shared Sorn's sentiments— both let out a heavy sigh of exasperation. Hilda slapped her forehead and continued with her previously interrupted conversation.
"Mad Lucifer, you've been surviving alone in the outside world, fighting off zombies. Even if you haven't been bitten, there are other aspects of your condition that I need to check. It's clear you're lacking in nutrition, and your body is a bit underweight. You haven't always had access to clean food out there, right? Your irregular sleep patterns are also a concern, and I'll need to check your blood pressure—just a routine check. I'll also examine your face, which Ralf says was hit by Dean. I know you're a man and might not care much about facial injuries, but it's quite noisy hearing Ralf complain about it."
Hilda's voice sounded professional as she explained her duties, but there was a hint of frustration underlying her tone. Well, doctors are human too.
Sorn also didn't miss Dean muttering "Sorry" when Hilda mentioned that Dean had hit Sorn's face.
Seriously, he believed the members of this independent survival group were capable individuals. However, from the behavior of some members of Ralf's group that he encountered today, they did not live up to his expectations. Instead of being impressed and thinking, 'Ah, they're so amazing for surviving this long, no wonder they're stronger than official soldiers,' Sorn felt that interacting with them was more like dealing with a bunch of high school students.