“... You want to change the lecture?”
“Yes. I plan to change the entire course content.”
Noh Gun-sang looked at Pung Jin-ho with a puzzled expression.
The man who had come to the office early in the morning was not the Pung Jin-ho he knew.
‘He looks like he just met the Grim Reaper.’
Just yesterday, his face had been glistening with oil, but now it was pale and devoid of color, his lips a sickly blue.
Though he had never particularly liked this man as a martial artist or as a teacher, seeing him like this stirred a sense of pity within him.
“Are you sick?”
“... Huh? Oh, no.”
Pung Jin-ho shook his head, his expression vacant.
Cold sweat was beading on his forehead.
“Not sick, huh? But you have cold sweat on your forehead.”
“It’s not that I’m sick...”
Pung Jin-ho could not bring himself to say that the feeling of loneliness writhing in his stomach was still vivid.
Noh Gun-sang, with a worried look, asked again,
“Did you eat something wrong this morning?”
“Ugh...!”
“Why are you acting like this? If you feel unwell, go outside and throw up!”
Noh Gun-sang stepped back in shock, and only after Pung Jin-ho managed to calm his churning stomach did the farce come to an end.
“Hah... Hah...”