What's wrong with my acting? I just showed it as it is, but the director scolds me and slaps me, calling it acting coaching. Even though I'm unknown and miserable, I'm always cast in dismissive roles, even at the bar where I work. No one in the world makes eye contact with me. I never wanted a life like this, but will I have to live like this forever? One day, a great impulse struck me. On a dark night, I went to the bar where I work. But there's a homeless man drinking alone. How did he get in here? Don't hold back! The homeless man says, hitting my cheek, his eyes bloodshot. Come on, my heart. I've made up my mind. When the sun rises, I'll take this pistol and run tirelessly through the sharply tensed city, shooting those who torment me. I'll kill only the bad guys. Evening fell, and I grew increasingly frustrated. The gun won't even fire properly. I have to kill them all quickly—what made me like this?