Under the paper lanterns, the fine sand sparkles with a golden light. Chadol, revealing the two horns atop his short brown hair, carefully leans the wooden club from his shoulder against the wall. His arms, with the sleeves of his green outer garment rolled up, are covered in sand, and the ends of his red belt flutter in the wind.
He gestures toward the wooden bench outside the sand pit. He has a confident face, but he unnecessarily shoves the tip of his hat peeking out of his pocket back in. Beneath his feet, only the starting line has been drawn so far.