Astoria, the parents and the kids left and finished cleaning up the BBQ.
Looking back on that day, I went into the futon.
Meditating your eyes, what Astoria said glistens through your brain.
Yeah, if it was normal.
If I had been a normal magical person, I would have answered YES right away.
I'm glad you confessed.
I'm so glad you said you liked it.
But the more they say it, the more they say it.
The more I remember,
"I feel nauseous"
I feel nauseous about being favoured.
I mean, that can't be happening.
It's not like that because it's easy to understand the preferences from Pong, Gongske, Dombeye, and pets.
Because if you wave your love, you'll be fed.
You can take care of me in return.
Because I understand that, love and preference for pets are pleasant.
I don't hate Astoria.
It's probably a great honor to meet that noble princess.
Astoria says that Lucia likes me in the same way as she does.
I don't know why.
I really don't understand why they both like me.
And I just thought,
"Goddamn it, make me sick."
That's all.
No more or less.
There is certainly joy.
But the corner of your head sounds cold.
Nobody else, your voice resounds.
This is impossible.
That's impossible.
Living like this is painful and hassle-free.
Why is there an even more annoying relationship event?
This is supposed to be an event for Reach and other Yangca.
And there was a sign that the door of the room would open, and Pong, Gonske, and Dombeye came in.
Pong goes up on my stomach and round as a matter of course.
Dombeye looks like a dragon, and since she's still small, she comes into my futon and it's still round.
Gonsky, for some reason, lurks in the form of a person and a pyjama.
Weren't you going to sleep with your sister or your father?
Well, that's fine.
I'll reach out from the futon to the pond.
I am about ten years old.
In human terms, it's an Obaba cat.
Since I got back from the facility, no, it hasn't been since before.
"You'll come at a time like this. Always."
I stroke.
My throat rang.
Then the pond moved from the stomach to the top of the chest.
I sit in a perfume box and narrow my eyes, but it just shows the same attitude now and in the past.
Stop stroking your hand a little.
Then the pom rang as if it were a reminder.
"Yes, yes."
Stop stroking and now I'll scratch your chin and neck.
After all, it seems to feel good.
Ah, healing.
I guess pets are better than humans.
They won't say anything extra, and they won't.
It calms down.