The incessant trickle of water washed over a nearly flawless physique, streaming along the grout of the tiles into the drain.
Without shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, or facial cleanser, there was nothing here—not even a showerhead, just a water pipe spewing water down.
Igula felt less like he was taking a shower and more like he was caught in a downpour.
Moreover, the shower room was so small, it couldn't even accommodate Igula with his arms outstretched. Even in Shattered Lake Prison, Igula hadn't fallen to such a state.
But the tidy Igula presently had little to fuss over. After hurriedly rinsing the sweat from his body, he grabbed a rough towel to dry himself and changed into a set of casual clothes. The size of the clothes was not a perfect fit, but obviously, in these circumstances, one couldn't be too demanding.
