His portly belly strained against his soiled, floral-patterned shirt, while his face was covered in a tangle of white whiskers like tangled electrical wires. His sparse hair, barely enough to count on one hand, failed to conceal his shiny scalp. Coupled with his textbook-perfect beer gut, this short, stout old man's first impression wasn't exactly charming.,"It's been over two months, Izanabe. Aren't supplies running low",Suddenly, Izana found a very strange point—although Old Jack was pointed at the head with a gun, the fear on his face seemed rather insincere.。