My brother has left, leaving me alone as a walking corpse. When will this kind of day end?
To my favorite world? That passionate and illusory world?
Some people say that every time a comic story is born from the pen of a cartoonist, and comes to the paper from the rumbling noise of the printing press with the fragrance of pen and ink, a new world is born, and a group of new lives come to a mysterious corner of the world - the dimensional comic space.
They have their own lives, which is why sometimes painters say that characters are out of control, or that they are attracted to the characters they create.
Just looking at their passionate life makes me excited. Joining them has been my dream. But why did it happen to be him at this time? Can you give me the motivation to live?