"Pfft, what a cold-hearted guy."
Lockte sneered as he watched the roaring motorbike speed away without any pause.
Drifting snowflakes settled on his shoulders, landed on the tips of his hair.
The chilly wind brushed against his face, causing him to shiver unconsciously — the bone-chilling cold made his already uncooperative body even stiffer.
He suddenly realized that the man had been standing in the draft all along, blocking the cold wind for him.
His expression calmed down.
He lowered his head, looking at the wallet he had thrown on the ground, looking at the cards scattered from it.
He gazed at the wallet, at those beautiful and exquisite cards.
Slowly he reached out his hand, hunched his body, and crawled to the wallet, grasped it, and began gathering the scattered, fine cards.
The howling cold wind and snow grew fiercer, making him feel the deep chill to his bones.
