Mist Locks the Green Mountains, the Old Friend Is Gone

After my father died, I signed the bone marrow donation registry. In the sixth year, Percival informed me that someone needed my marrow to save their life. The recipient was willing to pay me five hundred thousand as compensation, only they didn't want their identity exposed. I didn't think much of it and rushed to the hospital without stopping, only to overhear a conversation between him and his apprentice.