Even he found it strange. He used to be most annoyed when women put on airs in front of him or played hard to get. Not to mention throwing tantrums; even if they missed two consecutive phone calls, they would generally be immediately blacklisted, and he would never contact them again. But no matter how difficult or melodramatic this woman was, he had surprisingly grown accustomed to it.
Is it pity? Pity for her being all alone, looking so utterly helpless? Pity that she has no one to turn to when she's wronged? The mere thought of her alone at home today, burning up with such a high fever, sent a shiver of fear down his spine. If I hadn't gone to find her, would she have truly just sat there waiting for the worst? How pitiful.
After a long silence, he muttered to himself, "Little trickster, get well soon so you can go back to your usual scheming. I'm really not used to seeing you this pitiful."
