A thin, steady stream of water washed over a flawless, almost perfect body, following the grooves of the tiled floor before disappearing into the drain. There was no body wash, no shampoo, no conditioner, and not even a proper showerhead. It was simply a pipe spraying water downward. Rather than taking a proper shower, Iger felt as though he were standing under a sudden downpour.

The washroom was so small that he couldn't even fully stretch his arms. Even during his time in Shattered Lake Prison, he had never fallen into such a miserable state. Yet, for someone so fastidious, Iger showed surprisingly little dissatisfaction. After quickly rinsing off the sweat, he dried himself with a rough towel and changed into casual clothes. The fit was far from perfect, but under the circumstances, he could hardly afford to be picky.

When he returned to the main hall of the underground base, he saw Harvey applying makeup...