"If I were you, I would choose to pursue once again the lover whose memory I had lost, instead of ignoring her as you do. Don't you feel tormented? You've yearned for her for over eighteen hundred years, but when asked, you call her a friend and dare not recognize her."
Muria looked at the old man whose face was recovering rapidly from the blood that was flowing back into his wounds. His face was filled with disdain, he was tired of such cliché drama.
"Even if I recognize her, so what?" Seeing the dissatisfied Muria, an old man who had originally been punched, was now deflated like a punctured ball, a look of decadence appearing on his face.