Behind them, there were some experimenters whose figures were unclear.
The most contact you had with them usually was secretly slipping your written stories through the crack of the door. When the stories were returned, they had encouraging words and little red flowers on them.
Therefore, you never knew—
"Bang! Bang!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang—!"
After a few gunshots rang out, the few figures falling like wheat, what kind of mood did they hold in their hearts at the last moment.
Why did they want to save you?
Why did they want to escort you to the vast golden plains?
Why did they risk their lives to send you out?
You know that you are not a genius. Apart from writing stories, you are incapable of anything else, unable to solve those headache-inducing math problems, you are a waste.
But now you can only run forward—run forward—the gunshots behind you don't stop, you don't stop running forward—
...
At this moment,
