He remembered that he was buying oden in the convenience store downstairs of the company, holding the Q3 market analysis report he had just printed out in his hand, when he was unexpectedly hit by an out-of-control express tricycle and sent flying. The moment the parabola crossed the sky, his last thought was: "This month's performance is gone."
When he opened his eyes again, there was a dusty linen tent above his head, and an indescribable musty smell lingered on the tip of his nose, mixed with the faint scent of mugwort. He moved his fingers, and what he touched was rough bedding, not sterile hospital sheets.
