[Multicultural world of East and West + Protagonist's character is prone to ridicule + Small-scale Cthulhu + Novice writing may cause confusion in the plot]
Stars spread across the night sky, the dead and angels fly together, and the neon city disappears in the blink of an eye like brilliant fireworks.
My sudden death has given me the qualification to pass through the long river of time in this world, the final chapter of my career, and the creed of my life.
I found my midway in my confused second life. But I don't know if it's the meaning I'm looking for, or the anchor chosen by the world for me.
Am I studying the world, or is the world studying me.
This is the last cry of civilization. The end of the story is also the end.
I am the writer of this world
But the world is rebelling against me too
