But What did the Novelist do Wrong?

77

Chapter Seventy-Seven

    As soon as Oda Sakunosuke blurted out these words, the atmosphere instantly became a little awkward.

    How did Renyang Aoike start writing his first book?

    It's not difficult to say this, but the series of events that followed are not good memories.

    Dazai felt a dull pain in his temple.

    The purpose of him pulling Qingchi Lianyang out is to relax, bad emotions need to be expressed, especially his paranoid and speechless character.

    But...

    who knew he could step on mines so accurately over and over again?

    Qingchi Lianyang turned a blind eye to the past. But that was all made by him, an illusion that even deceived himself.

    Whose past scars are not bloody when they are uncovered. No one can completely get out of the past, indifference is just the surface of illusion.

    What's more, he just realized that 'everything he experienced may be someone else's conspiracy', and his emotions are just weak.

    Dazai Osamu looked confused, Oda Sakunosuke who was waiting for an answer, and Aoike Renyang who was staring at the wine glass, who had no reaction on his face, felt that he who nodded a few minutes ago was really crazy.

    Why did you agree to come to the bar? With a... stranger?

    Of the three, probably only one sat comfortably without being tortured because he didn't know anything.

    The music on the bar stereo changed to melodious and lively light music.

    The bar where the three are located has a long history, and many commemorative old objects and photo frames are hung on the wall, carrying all kinds of memories. On the solid wood wine cabinet, various wine bottles and utensils are labeled and arranged neatly.

    Aoike Lianyang lightly rubbed the edge of the glass, feeling a dull pain in her fingertips, and the contact point turned white.

    After a long time, he put down his wine glass, his voice was cold, and he couldn't hear any emotion.

    "He told me 'you have a talent for writing, find something happy to do for yourself', and then he started writing."

    The white-haired boy raised his head, his turquoise pupils were darkened by the dim light, like the shadow of the setting sun cast on the building.

    Even if he was going to drink later, he was wearing a mask tightly, so he couldn't see his expression clearly, but it didn't matter, because he didn't have any expression. Even emotions. Stay the same twenty-four hours a day.

    he?

    Is this kind of encouragement a role of a teacher?

    Oda Sakunosuke answered the words with a little emotion.

    "I've also met such a person, but it's not the same as you..."