Holding the gold-plated room number, he knocked on the wooden door and opened it. Atobe stood behind the door wearing a casual suit. There were sporadic drops of water on his short brown hair, and the broken hair on both sides stuck smoothly to his forehead. The air was filled with the cold and attractive fragrance of Opium. The sun shone in from the window behind him, forming a faint halo on his long and slender silhouette.
Conception: