"Bed 15, remember to pay the fees."
"How much?"
"Around 200 or more."
"So expensive!"
"...All the medicine is the cheapest available, old man."
"But it's still too expensive, you might as well kill me."
The argument continued incessantly.
It's really annoying.
He frowned, opened his eyes, and woke up from his stupor.
The familiar smell of disinfectant.
Fluorescent lights.
A six-person ward.
...What happened?
The old man in bed 15 across from him was flushed, his voice growing louder, arguing endlessly with the nurse.
Their voices made his heart more irritable, unable to remember anything.
"Stop arguing!"
He spoke.
The nurse and the old man looked over together.
The old man was dressed in tattered clothes, his face full of weathered wrinkles, dark skin, and the shoes by his bed were muddy and had a hole.
The nurse wore a look of anger and helplessness.
It was already late at night.
Outside the window, another door had the words "Emergency" pasted on it.
