The whole process of cutting wasn't easy; after all, limbs could feel pain. Though Anna could endure the agony of being flayed and breaking bones, it didn't mean she liked any of it.
When she finished, sweat dripped down her forehead, and the table was soaked in blood.
The clown came up to Anna and, using his whole body, made an apologetic gesture.
Picking up the cup on the table and taking a sip, Anna shook her head and said, "I don't blame you. Think about it—even if you wanted to, the kind of ability to regenerate severed limbs is something you just can't have. This arm is just a temporary fix."
"I asked you here not for this. I want to talk about something between us."
The clown straightened his suit, then calmly struck a listening pose.
"Some things you already know even if I don't say them. Back when we were in IMF custody, what kind of days did we live through? I'm sure you didn't like that life."
