Five days is neither long nor short, yet it swiftly passed, and soon Charles, wrapped in gauze, could slowly walk on the sandy grounds and bask in the sun.
However, every time he came out, Charles always felt that his first mate looked at him strangely.
"Captain, it's normal—if someone wore the same clothes as me every day, I'd be annoyed too," whispered Deep as he handed Charles a coconut drink.
"Let's not talk about him—how are things on your end?" Charles asked, leaning against the shade of a tree.
"Ah, Captain, spare me, I'm really not cut out to be a handler of the Cult; when I was a beggar before, they were the ones I hated the most."
"If you can't do it, go learn! Haven't I found some people to teach you? You're only 17, what's there to fear? If you fail, you can start over. If you can't learn in one year, then two years, or three; we must have our own people in critical positions on Hope Island."
