It took me nearly thirty years of living to understand this.

The world never revolves around me, it only plays me around. My thoughts are obviously extreme, but the cowardly reality makes up for it.

My advice as someone who's been there is don't even bother coming.

Real life dealt me ​​a blow, and I can only say it wasn't as hard as last time.

And those who can't kill me just keep hitting me.

I also wonder when this kind of life of accomplishing nothing and a future that is so clear that it can be seen at a glance will change.

Until the point when insomnia was so severe that he was on the verge of sudden death, he put on a helmet called a 'sleep pod'.

【Welcome to the perfect life simulation system. From now on, your memory will begin to be re-simulated, and all your regrets will be reshaped! 】

During the day, I am the most inconspicuous marginal figure.

But at night, I am slowly becoming their white moonlight.

【Non-toxic and NTR-free】

In the late autumn of 1900, the British writer Oscar Wilde passed away at the Hôtel d'Alsace in Paris. His close friend, Robert, handed the manuscript of his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, to a mysterious gentleman. Over a century later, a Chevrolet Impala galloped across the ancient lands of North America. A young man from London gazed up at the stars and began a long, endless hunt. Vampires, werewolves, alchemists, wizards—countless aliens and fallen creatures knelt before the black figure. Another late night, silver swords clashed with fangs, sparks flying. "Hello, my name is Dorian L. Gray, a hunter in the employ of the Conspirators." The young man smiled gleefully, decapitating the ugly head—and pulling out the arm that had pierced his heart. "As you can see, the only thing I have in common with my ancestors is this—we,...