His expression darkened further as he thought about the dense, jungle-like vegetation surrounding his small farm. It was as if he were living in the middle of a primeval forest. The more he thought about it, the blacker his face became.
So, he'd been living in a nest of mutated plants all this time?
The wood he'd chopped for his fence—mutated plants. The bamboo he'd been eagerly waiting to harvest for shoots next year—mutated plants. The area where he gathered mushrooms—mutated plants. The vines he casually grabbed to use as ropes—also mutated plants. Even the massive tree next to his cabin that shielded him from wind and rain—it, too, was a mutated plant.
And then there were the orange trees, chestnut trees, lemon trees...
Kim Haru didn't know whether to marvel at his uncanny ability to pick such an "outstanding" location or be amazed that he'd lived in such a place for so long without a single scratch—his life miraculously intact.
