PREVIEW

... ! Truly!"

When Char vied for the thirty-second time to ignite the pile of dry grass in front of him with the flint in his hand, yet still failed.

He was utterly deflated.

"Why?!"

"Why did I ever design this game?!"

He lamented endlessly, wishing he could travel back several months and slap himself hard: all the suffering he was enduring now stemmed from the brainwater he had during the game's planning phase!

Destroy it!

Hurry up!

I' ...

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