Social animals don't deserve love

The sound of music that hadn't changed in decades at the intersection sounded, and the red light turned into a green light. I carried my handbag and avoided the flow of people like an old lady.

Pedestrians walking in a hurry are like a colony of ants, orderly but there are always some who are different from others, such as now.

A man in a hat staggered vigorously past me, and with a light hand in a trance, I immediately realized that something was wrong——Oda Sakunosuke's posthumous manuscript!

"Stop! There's a thief! He stole my friend's belongings!"

I ran forward and chased - not only my dreams, but also the dreams of my deceased friends, all kept in that small non-woven bag.

How can it be repaired!Even if you snatch the wallet, don't touch my manuscript, bastard!

Sure enough, the Mercury retrograde has not subsided yet?

I chased after the thief relentlessly, trying my best to prevent myself from being thrown off immediately.The good news is that this thief is almost as useless as I am. The bad news is that I am just a mediocre painter... Maybe with Mr. Sakaguchi and his convenience, I can have half a goose fighting power.

I mean...Mr. Sakaguchi's zero point five, I'm the second decimal zero, to keep him from looking too shabby.

People can do anything in a hurry, except mathematics.

For example, now, running on the street and randomly colliding with small balls with pedestrians who couldn't dodge, I exerted [-]% of my prehistoric power and finally broke people's inherent impression of the house, and did not let the thief out of sight.

And then... I witnessed the collapse of the Solvay meeting.

The thief Mercury retrograde who also collides with pedestrians with random balls is probably more serious than me.In a panic, he bumped into a thin young man in a long black trench coat and sunglasses, and then yelled at him.

The road is narrow, brother.Is this your first day in Yokohama?

The man's skin not covered by the sunglasses showed an unhealthy pale color, and the ends of his black hair gradually became snow-white.He felt a bit like a "slender ghost". Eight black claws suddenly appeared behind him when he was hit by someone, and he demonstrated on the spot how Count Dracula's name went down in history...

I saw blood spilling out and staining the little non-woven bag that held a friend's legacy.The thief fell to the ground, his muscles twitching slightly due to the residual nerve response of his limbs.

Death brings fear, and fear makes people stupid.Maybe I'm always stupid, but I'm not afraid, let alone want to die.

"Even if you want to kill me, please wait for a few days, please wait for me to complete the agreement with my friend who died early! Please!" The black sharp thorn stopped in front of his eyes, and the young man raised his hand to cover his mouth and coughed very gracefully: "cough Cough cough cough cough, hum!"

Then turned around and walked away silently.

Leaving aside the discussion of what that "huh" actually means, he spared my life as a rookie.

Congrats, congratulations.

Before getting into the police car, I called the publisher to postpone the meeting, and the other party expressed their understanding.

After all, this is Yokohama. There is only one possibility for a person who has made an appointment to suddenly miss the appointment or lose contact with him--being involved in a street fight and unfortunately dying.

Being able to receive phone calls proves that you are lucky enough to do business with lucky people and you will definitely not lose money.

At least I think so.

Seeing the unlucky thief being carried into the ambulance, I took out the manuscript and hugged it tightly. As for the blood-stained non-woven bag, I gave it to the police officers to take away as physical evidence.

Being both a victim and a survivor, of course one cannot run away and be questioned.However, no matter what I was asked, I had only one answer - "I don't know that person", "He couldn't see his face with sunglasses on", "There was no conversation", "Too scared to remember".

Even though the well-intentioned passer-by from the dark department was covered up like a terminally ill patient, the police gentlemen still locked his identity: a mafia member entrenched in the port.I had already guessed the answer, I kept my mouth shut from the beginning to the end, and it was a pity for my life.In any case, the young man in black spared me. Given the brutality of the local armed groups, I didn't want to trouble myself to call him or his colleagues out again.

As the nearby surveillance failed to capture detailed pictures, I, a herbivore at the bottom of the food chain, was escorted to the door of the publishing house by the police officer three hours later.

People are floating in Yokohama, if you don't die this time, you might die next time, since you still have the chance, you have to finish the agreed things as soon as possible.

The person who received me was a short, middle-aged man with a rather deserted head. Let me be lazy and call him Sahara. The name that fits the image of the character is easy to remember.After the temporary workers served boiled water, Sahara asked a few simple questions, nothing more than "Where did the manuscript come from?" "Where is the person who wrote the manuscript?" type of binding."

Without exception, the latter content involves the settlement amount, and it is a matter of money, and Sahara seems to be very fussy.He was very dissatisfied with the way that the input method did not count punctuation marks as a word, as if I had taken advantage of it.

"I have already proofread it myself, and prepared the electronic files myself. I just need to simply adjust the typesetting layout. I also drew the illustrations. The author is very young and has passed away. He is my friend." I lowered my eyes, afraid of being confronted Too powerful Holy Light Flash.

The hand holding the water in Sahara paused, and said in a very secular way: "Excuse me, is it your husband's posthumous manuscript or your friend's posthumous manuscript? I seem to have heard a pronoun referring to men?"

"It's a friend, not a husband." I answered him patiently: "I once had his help, but unfortunately he died young, leaving only a few volumes of manuscripts. I think there are probably not many other than me now. People remember."

In the worldly concept, only people with extremely close relationships can rest assured to entrust the will, but I am really wronged-there will be no more upright people in this world than Oda Sakunosuke. I deeply doubt that he can even make jokes about his friends. Not to mention, let alone develop an inappropriate relationship with a married woman.

We are just a case of the rescuer and the rescued becoming friends by chance.As for why he sent the posthumous manuscript to me, it is probably because other friends are inconvenient, or because I am the only one who is still struggling to earn a living in a similar publishing industry...

Sahara looked me up and down again with a very oily and indescribable expression: "Well, that's okay, it's dead people anyway. How many are you going to print?"

"[-] copies? What do you think if they are reprinted after delivery?" I asked back.

Yokohama is one of the top three regions in terms of population in the island country, with a mere [-] books, not even a single wave can be seen.

Sahara scratched me again, and the arrangement of facial features gradually became obscene: "This number cannot be less. This kind of book will not have a chance to get a big publishing house even if you spend money. The author is not a famous person. There is only this one, and it has not won any awards as a gimmick, so it can't even be hyped up. Or can you have other input that interests me more?"

He stretched out his hand to make a gesture, and when he retracted the gesture, his five fingers arched in the middle and scratched.

"The opportunity is rare, don't miss it easily."

Well, I think about it, I think this guy probably regards me as a romantic, passionate, idle and boring ignorant young woman.Too lazy to delve into those meaningful hints, I put away the manuscript and asked for a free bag, packed them carefully, got up and left, and didn't even bother to leave the corner of my eye for Sahara's too sparse head.

It is true that what Sakunosuke Oda wrote is far from the Nobel Prize for Literature, but it is definitely much better than most code farmers who flatter the market.It seems that this publishing house is only worthy of staying in a corner. It is not qualified to touch the words written by a person with his soul and life.

I left the publishing house quickly and stopped when I reached the roadside flower bed. I was at a loss.

Sahara may be too oily, but he's right about one thing: the big press won't give me a chance.Even if I pay out of my own pocket, they can't possibly waste their time on things that are destined to be unprofitable.

What should I say about the works of Sakunosuke Oda?The writing is very close to reality, but because it is too close to reality, the honest and dull male protagonist who is obsessed with trivial things in the market is not very attractive to young girls.From the perspective of the possibility of market returns, whether it is popular or not is the highest achievement it can achieve.

At this time, the phone rang, and it was the cleaning company.

They were very angry and complained that I shouldn't have played a prank. Yata's house is clearly in good condition and does not need a large-scale deep cleaning.Um?Could it be that I lost part of my brain on this amazing quantum journey?

"Sorry, it was my mistake. Please clean it normally, and the fee will not change." The other party answered while picking up the mobile phone pendant in a depressed mood, and the other party sounded almost suffocated by me: "It's not about money, Ms. Yada ... Well, we will do the cleaning, and the money will not be refunded, and the overcharge will be converted into ordinary services for you in the future."

The phone was hung up very quickly, and no one contacted me at all other than sales calls throughout the day.

Back at the hotel, I tried to dial the number of Sakaguchi glasses for the N+1 time, but of course no one answered.Lying on the big bed and turning over, I saw the setting sun slowly sinking against the sea surface, the light getting darker and darker, and finally only a foggy blue-gray was left, and I was awakened by the street lamps that were lit up.

It wasn't just the street lamps that lit up, but also the warm orange light from the windows of the houses.

There is a hint of coolness in the temperature that can still support the skirt, I think I should raise a warm and clingy fur animal, if one day unfortunately passes away again, who can meow and worry for me.

Even if it's just for the sake of food.

Turning over, I found a handbook that I used once every ten thousand years to write down this event, and then picked up a hook pen and watercolor paint to draw a small orange tree. The color in my handbook was very colorful and lively.