Still, this didn't do much for me. I didn't think I liked being fussed over. Maybe it was because I was cold-blooded, or maybe the trauma from whatever my past self had gone through had lingered on in me.
What had my past self done? For the past half month, I'd thought about it every day, but I still couldn't come up with anything.
As I thought, I'd already walked quite a distance. The intersection was just ahead, and once I crossed it, I'd reach
that little restaurant. I put away my CD player, and just as I turned my head, a muffled groan suddenly came from a nearby corner.
I was startled. I knew that voice very well. Was it Buyan?
He sounded like he was in a lot of pain.
Lately, he'd been acting mysterious, and every day he came back looking as if he'd been hurt. I'd already been concerned, and now I was worried. What exactly had he been doing lately?
As a guest staying at his place, I thought I had a right to know what was going on.
With that in mind, I slowed down. It was daytime, but the area was unusually quiet. Apart from the occasional sound of waves, hardly anyone was around. After all, this was practically a slum.
I slowed my steps and looked toward the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from a corner, in a narrow alley between two run-down houses.
I crept over to the alley. The sounds grew clearer. I listened closely and, sure enough, it was Mo Buyan.
"Thud!"
"Ugh!"
Mo Buyan's muffled groan reached me, along with the meaty sound of fists landing.
"How's that, motherfucker? Weren't you pretty damn tough before?"
"Hahaha! Wasn't this kid the boss around here once?