I accidentally died yesterday [comprehensive]

day.

Xu suddenly came in with a stack of materials, and said to all the students: "The space transportation tower has been completed, and currently recruiting 30 people to enter the spaceship as pioneers to go to other planets for construction."

This is a registration list for a space transport station, just like when Europe discovered the American continent, many immigrants, pioneers, gold diggers, debtors, and Puritans took a ship to the American continent, and now this historical event is repeated. once.

He held up the list and said.

"The future is here."

...

One-half of the students are gone.

And some more are being prepared.

This value is quite exaggerated, and there are still many families who are waiting and watching.

When Kurokawa walked into the private school, he saw an empty classroom, "The students are all gone."

Nodding.

Encourage students to stay away from home.

Not what he wanted.

It's just doing it casually when you accomplish your goal.

After all, he has been fighting against something all his life.

When he was weak at the beginning, he resisted the killing from other people. When he grew up, the repression was buried in his heart. He could hurt anyone, but it was meaningless. He always felt that he was still being hurt.

I was hurt by other people's smiles, words, and even the bright spring.

He seemed to hate the world.

So rebel, destroy.

It was his original intention.

Kurokawa wandered around the house with his hands behind his back. The rented room was very big, at least much wider than the room he and Kiemon slept together. The messy branches growing outside were inserted into the window arbitrarily, and some white stamens bloomed in it.

A little flower.

Somewhat pathetic.

Kurokawa nodded the branches, and clusters of petals rushed out of their heads, so crowded that they couldn't stand, and pieces of white fell to the ground one after another.

The wind blows.

Float into the house.

Some beauty.

There were two or three students in the classroom who were working on test papers. Smelling the fragrance of flower petals, they raised their heads and saw the teacher leaning against the wall, holding a shakuhachi in his hand.

The teacher held out his hand.

Then the students' memories seemed to be rolled around with a blender.

They later couldn't remember who the teacher gave the shakuhachi to, nor what they were doing at the time.

I only remember the faint sound slanting from the bamboo pipe, sweeping the whole room silently like flowing water.

The tone is clean.

Still a little lonely.

Leaning against the wall.

A rare bit of tranquility.