Scorpion had been here for a long time. Although life here seemed dull and monotonous, it gave him a long-lost sense of peace.
All along, Scorpion had suffered somewhat from post-traumatic stress disorder. It simply had not been very obvious, and he had constantly kept himself under control, so it had never become too severe.
But psychological problems like that could not be resolved overnight.
Even when he had been in prison, the slightest disturbance would jolt him awake from his sleep. It was an instinct forged over many years, one that could not be changed.
Yet after coming here for just over a year, he realized those symptoms had vanished. He was now more like an ordinary person—able to sleep in, rest, and get along with others like anyone else.
If the memories of the previous decades had not been so deeply etched into him, he might even have believed that, like everyone around him, he had grown up in this world, and that everything he had experienced before had been nothing more than a dream.
But reality was reality, and everything around him pointed to one fact: this country was advancing along a path beyond anything he could imagine. It was difficult to believe.
But even so, Scorpion was willing to keep watching. Though he was not from this country, and though they would never forgive him, even he did not know why he had such thoughts.
It was not because he was putting on airs. He was not afraid of death, though of course, if given a choice, he did not want to die either.
Everyone was like that. Having fallen into his current circumstances, he had no reason to put on airs.
Still, he had to admit from the bottom of his heart that the breadth