#060

On my third day at the Order, I was curious about something that happened yesterday. While Elamin was helping me with my fascia, I decided to bring it up.

On my third day at the Order, I was curious about something that happened yesterday. While Elamin was helping me with my fascia, I decided to bring it up.

“When I got this toolbox, I thought we were going to be secret agents or something like in a spy movie. But things have been pretty quiet lately.”

“Excuse me, do you have a moment? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you...”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Huh?”
I bowed my head slightly, trying to get around the guy with the melona hair who was blocking my path, but he stepped right in front of me again.

So, Seojun was discharged. He left the hospital with a temporary eye prosthesis and an eye patch, looking like a teenager who’d just had a run-in with a pesky sty. Instead of the refreshing scent of grass, a strong whiff of city smog greeted him as he stepped outside.

“Could it be the keeper of the treasury god, Horeum?”
“Or perhaps Ophia of Solace?”
His peers, buzzing with theories about families famous for their vast collections of ‘holy relics,’ turned their attention to Athanas.

Seojun leaned against the railing of his hospital bed, his arm wrapped up like a mummy’s. His attempt to sit up straighter was almost comical, given the awkward fumble of his bandaged hand.

Athanas had inadvertently overlooked a crucial detail in his plan.
He knew people loved revelations from ‘Valentin’ and wasted time gossiping about love and ruin, but he had no interest in such matters. He found the obsession with these love dramas to be a colossal waste of time.

Christina skidded to a stop before Seojun, gasping for air, her complexion deathly pale and her skin gleaming with sweat—a clear reflection of Seojun’s own bone-deep fatigue. Her hands twitched at her sides, as if she was resisting the urge to cover her mouth, while she gazed at the motionless figure on the ground.

Unfortunately, ‘Fabio’ wasn’t the type of trash who could just ignore someone who was pouring their heart out.
A character should be consistent in their actions.
Wouldn’t it be odd if the guy who always greeted the village bell ringer with respect suddenly started snubbing people the moment he stepped into the Order?

Fred’s gas mask slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground, leaving a bloody imprint on the earth.
“Sorry? What do you mean by ‘Sorry’, Fred?”