It is said that the most beautiful rose in the world blooms in a red desert, and anyone who finds it can find happiness.
People who are struggling to find happiness cross the Red Desert in an endless stream, but in the end they turn back sadly.
It is said that the desert is dyed red by the blood of those who were pricked by roses. Those who have not crossed the desert can only continue to search for their own happiness in fantasy.
This is a short story and may be updated at an irregular time. Try not to get into trouble. I haven't written an article on a similar theme for many years, so I'm a bit shaky.
So this article is a rewrite of an old article, with the protagonist changed and details added. I guarantee that everyone who has ever read this old article is an old man fufufufu~
Intention: Mistake is the mother of the end, giving up is the beginning of freedom.