"Who the hell needs to say hi?"
Yan Huan kicked off his slippers with both feet and naturally flopped onto the bed. The soft mattress sank and rebounded beneath him with a faint rustle, gently enveloping his body.
He reached beneath the pillow, felt around twice, and pulled out his phone, its screen slightly worn. Rolling over, he leaned against the headboard and unlocked it with his fingerprint.
His fingers flew across the smooth glass, opening a familiar icon. The screen's glow lit up his slightly pale face and focused eyes.
"We're already so familiar. Why the hell would I greet them... I'll talk after I clear my stamina."
"Alright." Seeing this, Castorice sighed softly, turned, and walked back into the bathroom still hazy with steam, taking her neatly folded clothes from the metal rack.
The clothes carried the bathroom's distinctive warm, damp scent.
She returned to the bedside, and the sheets dipped slightly as she sat down.
She naturally sat on the edge of the bed with her back to Yan Huan and began dressing with a soft rustle.
Her smooth back gleamed like pearl beneath the room's gentle lighting, her shoulder blades rising and falling slightly as she dressed.
As she pulled on her clothes, her voice came muffled through the silk shirt she was putting on.
"Sir, Miss Cyrene said... it seemed that [Iron Tomb]'s sword pierced your chest at the time."
"Although the wound healed quickly, everyone was worried there might be lingering problems."
"Are you really alright?"
"Do I look like I'm not?" Yan Huan turned his phone sideways, both thumbs rapidly tapping and swiping over the screen without even lifting his eyelids.
The dazzling flashes of game skills flickered in his pupils.
"Did Herta come by? What did she say?"
"She said, 'You're really