I, who advocate giving up, feel like a disqualified person

"Don't we even have to write lesson plans or make appointments or anything like that?" I muttered to myself.

Then he was flicked on the forehead.

"Why do little brats care so much about adult matters?"

"If you think you're too old, you won't be able to understand the works of us little kids."

"...Are you calling me old?"

"not at all."

After a brief silence, the show began. I immediately realized the script was adapted from my novel. It seemed the senior was a true fan. However, the plot wasn't a literal copy; it incorporated some of the senior's personal thoughts. The plot wasn't flawless; it was actually quite good. But the people around me weren't paying attention at all. They were either chatting idly or looking down at their phones, completely oblivious to the purpose of their visit.

On the other hand, the actors also became lazy due to the audience's indifference. Some of the lines were simply disconnected and there was no emotional investment. Well, it can't be helped. After all, people are selfish. If no one is watching, why put so much effort into the performance?

So, not everything is better with more people. I watched the chaotic scene and waited quietly for the show to end. Sure enough, clubs with fewer people are better.

"What are these little brats doing?" Brother Nan was a little annoyed, not sure if he was dissatisfied with the audience or the actors.

Well, I understand why you feel this way, but I'm sure it wouldn't be easy for you, the senior, to encounter this situation.

Finally, the show ended. After the actors bowed, there was no applause, only the continued noisy chatter. The actors stood there awkwardly for a while before leaving the stage one after another. At this time, the senior appeared on the stage.

"..." The noisy sounds around did not disappear, and the seniors standing on the stage seemed a little redundant.

You finally realize the difference between reality and imagination, senior. Even if you work hard and make sufficient preparations, reality is what it is. It won't consider your feelings and will only do what it wants. The world won't change because of your efforts. Giving up is the best thing to do.

.............

Do you think that when my senior encountered this situation, I would be able to look at his disappointed expression and calmly express my thoughts and persuade him to give up?

Although I am a person who gives up easily, I am just an ordinary person who will give up without hesitation when encountering difficulties.

But, I am the only one like you. If you become depressed, many people will become depressed with you.

"..."

I stood up, rushed to the stage, and snatched the microphone from my senior's hand.

"She..." Before the senior finished speaking, a shrill sound came from the speakers.

"What are you doing?!" "Are you sick?!" "Who is this guy?!" Complaints arose from the audience at the same time.

Yes, I made that noise on purpose.

"Everyone, did I do something wrong?"

"You must be wrong!" "Are you tired of living?"

"But in my opinion, I did nothing wrong. I just did the same thing as everyone else."

"You must be kidding!" "Who's like you?!" "If you're crazy, get out!"

"Well, before you all start scolding me, could you please answer me first, what is your purpose in coming here?"

"Of course we're watching the show!" "Are you stupid?" "If you have nothing to do, get off!"

"Since we're all here to see the show, could anyone please recap the general plot?"

"Why should I listen to you?" "Who are you?" Although there were still complaints, they were much less than before.

"I'm sure you all realize you've all been a bit distracted, but that's fine. It's your right, after all. I can't force you to read it meticulously. But," I glanced at the senior, "this is the work of Senior Sun next to me. From his performance just now, I can tell how much he put into the script. A creator has a deep love for their work, hoping it will be recognized, welcomed, and encouraged. Therefore, they hold themselves to very high standards, carefully crafting the plot and expressing their most sincere emotions. So, for such a dedicated person, are you really going to treat his work with such a nonchalant attitude?!"

"And for those of you in charge of performances, I'd also like to ask: what exactly motivated you to join the club in the first place? Perhaps it's out of love, or perhaps it's for the audience's praise. But no matter what, having the right attitude is paramount. If you become indifferent to your performance simply because the audience isn't paying attention, or even become so absent-minded that you miss your lines, then you don't deserve to be on stage, let alone receive applause and praise! As an actor, no matter how insignificant the role, no matter how unimportant the audience, the only thing you can do is to play your part well. On stage, the actor is the character itself. There's no such thing as an audience, only love for the character!"

"And as for using noise to get your attention, I make no apology."

"What?" "Why don't you apologize?"

"I just said it, didn't I? I just did the same thing as you guys. During your performance, you kept making as much noise as I did, and you didn't care at all. There's a saying that if you don't feel guilty, you don't make a mistake. Since you all don't feel guilty about your actions, let alone apologize, I guess I have the right to do the same, right?"

"That's too far-fetched!" "Apologize, you bastard!" "Stop comparing us to yourself!"

When I wanted to continue, the microphone was snatched away by my senior. "Thank you," he said softly to me, "that's enough."

"Everyone, I'm sorry. We didn't consider the urgency of your time, nor did we understand your interests in advance. We ignored your feelings. I'm really sorry. We invited you all here just because of our words. Next time, we will definitely be more thoroughly prepared. I hope you will support us then." After saying that, he bowed deeply to them.

The audience didn't say anything more about the seniors who were so kind, and they left one after another. Of course, there were some who cursed me, but that was fine.

That's good, right? If I were the center of everyone's hostility, the conflict would be resolved quickly.

“Why did you say those last words…” Senior walked up to me without looking up.

"Ah... Because I really can't stand this group of noisy audiences, and your attitude is too weak. You should learn more from me..." I tried my best to act indifferent.

"...Is that so..." The senior raised his head, his eyes full of apology, "I didn't expect you to be the villain..."

"Senior, what are you talking about? It's so confusing." I pretended to know nothing.

"Actually, I can do it myself... Don't do this again in the future." The senior patted my shoulder and walked away.

Later? Who knows what I'll do...

"Hey, I didn't expect this," Brother Nan shouted to me from the audience, "You are unexpectedly courageous."

"Really?" I gave a wry smile. "Now that I think about it, it was really stupid."

"Ah, no matter what, it's hard to do this for a friend. Anyway, just try your best, kid." After saying that, he turned and left the activity room.

Friends... sort of. Have I unknowingly considered my senior a friend? As for cheering me up... it really gives me a hard time. Never mind, let's just leave the future as it was before.

When the footsteps stopped moving forward, the mind was still full of random thoughts.

Chapter 9: When the footsteps stopped moving forward, the mind was still full of random thoughts

If memory is compared to footprints left on the beach, then the footprints left by most people should be clearly visible and can be seen clearly when looking back.

For some reason, when I looked back to see what my footprints looked like, they weren't what I imagined. It felt like drawing with your eyes closed: you clearly communicate the movements you want to make to your arms, but the result is often not what you imagined. You clearly experienced the passage of time, but the events in your memory are impossible to verify.

Some footprints were eroded by the wind and were no longer visible. Some footprints were clearly not mine, but they were mixed in with my footprints. There were also some footprints that seemed familiar, but for various reasons, I couldn't tell whether they were mine.

Memories seemed to merge with old dreams and my own idle fantasies. Unable to discern the authenticity of premature memories, I continued to live a normal life. So, is memory truly important to me, or is it simply insignificant?

“…” I opened my eyes.

I feel a heavy heart, but I don't know why.

Although strange dreams do not leave any specific impressions, there is always a feeling lingering in my mind, making me feel like I am in a dream all day long.

Looking at the gloomy weather outside the window, even the most slow-witted person will know that it is going to rain.

Despite this, I didn't take an umbrella. Perhaps it was because of the "broken window effect": a car with a broken window is more likely to be stolen than an intact car. This means that carrying an umbrella would be a sign of "rain," which would inadvertently increase the chances of rain by breaking the window. By choosing not to take an umbrella, I was increasing the chances of rain.

.....Well, actually it’s just because I’m too lazy to take it.

The first class had only been going on for a few minutes when the sound of rain began to fall outside. I sat by the window and watched the raindrops falling on the glass. The monotonous and rhythmless sound of rain reached my ears. I yawned involuntarily, and I didn't realize that the sound of the lecture was gradually becoming lower in my ears.

I've always wondered if a person's fate is predetermined from the outset. It's like writing a novel. The protagonist, a character in my novel, experiences unknown events in their own time, but their fate is in my hands. Are we, too, controlled by invisible forces? We think we're acting according to our own will, but these seemingly sincere actions are, in essence, simply what was supposed to happen.

....I opened my eyes again, the sound of rain was still ringing in my ears. Looking at my unfinished notes, I realized that I had fallen asleep in the first class without realizing it, and some inexplicable but quite sensible words popped up in my mind.

I'm currently copying Rinsenkawa's notes. But I don't have time to truly appreciate her refreshingly beautiful handwriting. Despite the tight deadline, my mind can't help but wander to other things besides the notes.

Think about it: if God truly existed, I doubt He would act arbitrarily; He would have His own preferences. The evidence for this is probably in the texts passed down by humanity, like "To whoever has, more will be given, and he will have an abundance; but from whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken away." These descriptions of God's ways are often found in the books we read.

However, God's intentions are truly clear. The powerful possess so much, yet they are allowed to continue plundering; the weak, however, are unable to protect even their most precious possessions. Ultimately, words like "fairness" are merely lies fabricated to mask the harshness of reality. So, regardless of the existence of so-called gods, the world still favors the powerful. I just...

It was not until I wrote the word "weak" that I realized that I had already copied the notes and had unknowingly written down my inner thoughts in the book.

A weak person? I looked at the word I had just used to express what I was thinking, and then crossed out the word along with the previous paragraph with a pen.

What is the standard for dividing the strong and the weak?

Ahhh, why am I thinking about something I normally wouldn't even bother to think about? And I'm in class right now, so it's not good to be distracted...

I glanced at the others who were almost all asleep on their desks, and the physics teacher who was struggling in vain at the podium.

....It doesn't seem to matter, so I'll just continue to daydream.

Thinking this way, I glanced at the textbook. This section seemed to be about electricity. Although I planned to study liberal arts, I did understand a little bit about physics, but only a little. The point was that electrical units were almost all named after great physicists. Although I knew this, it was useless on the exam.

However, I do realize the importance of names. Humans often attribute names to great figures, such as craters, physical laws, and paradoxes. This allows people who may not know much about these things to use them, often appearing knowledgeable. This is truly commendable.

On the other hand, as mortals, we also enjoy naming other things. For the most common animals, like cats and dogs, naming them evokes a closer bond. We might also give names to personal favorites. Having a name creates a sense of connection, a completely different feeling from naming something purely for academic purposes. Since a name is given by oneself, it signifies that it belongs to oneself, whereas things named by academics belong to all of humanity and therefore shouldn't be taken so seriously.

After all, is human nature really selfish?

"Snapped!"

As I heard the sound, I realized that I had been hit on the head by an unknown object, and it hurt quite a bit. So I quickly came to my senses and found that this was no longer a physics class, but a Chinese class with Brother Nan.

At this time, Brother Nan was standing next to me with an angry look on his face. The Chinese textbook in his hand must be the unidentified object that hit me just now.

I glanced at the physics book lying quietly on the table.

Ah, that’s cause for celebration.

"Huizi once asked, 'You are not a fish, how do you know the joy of a fish?' Zhuangzi replied, 'You are not me, how do you know that I do not know the joy of a fish?'" I said to Brother Nan who was sitting in front of me while standing in the teacher's office after class.

"Huh? So?"

"So, even though I have a physics book on my desk, you can't conclude from that alone that I haven't been listening to your lectures. So, Yizi, that is, I say: 'You are not me, so how do you know that I don't know what you are talking about?'"

"Snapped!"

"......"

I really can't reason with Brother Nan. Well, I also think that's just a forced explanation.

Rubbing my forehead, I returned to the classroom and continued to daydream. Since this was the last class this morning, I might as well stick with it.

The last section was about mental health and happiness, which reminded me of someone who would tell me whenever I sighed: If you sigh, happiness will slip away from you.

I'm not sure what the connection is between happiness and happiness, but from this sentence, it seems that happiness, like other substances, follows the law of conservation. It can neither appear out of thin air nor disappear, but only transfers from one place to another, right?

According to this theory, happiness should only grow stronger as it accumulates. Whether happiness can be lost through sighing remains unproven, but at least sighing doesn't make you feel particularly happy. So, I wonder how much happiness I've lost by sighing so often? And this happiness that persists must have flowed onto others, bringing them happiness. So, if my sighs spread happiness, then I don't seem to have done anything wrong.

By noon, the rain was getting heavier. Even though my home wasn't far from school, I still didn't like getting wet.

As I munched on a loaf of bread I'd bought at the convenience store downstairs, I watched the crowds of people holding umbrellas slowly moving along the path to the cafeteria. It's true that only with an umbrella can you have the courage to walk in the rain.

I fell asleep in the two self-study classes in the afternoon. In the last self-study class, I finally cheered up and prepared to go home from school.

The rain is still falling and there is no sign of it stopping.

In ancient Chinese poetry, rain often conveys the poet's melancholy, and autumn is often associated with bleakness and sadness. The autumn rain, however, has placed a heavy shackle on my already unmotivated self.

Not knowing how to get home in the rain, I went to the club after school. Rinquanchuan was still busy reading the books he had changed several times.

Sitting on the sofa, listening to the sound of rain which was still monotonous except becoming more rapid, my eyes gradually became heavy.

Speaking of which... what exactly are dreams? Shakespeare's Hamlet said, "To die, to sleep, is the end." If sleep could end the wounds of our souls and the myriad pains of our bodies, it would truly be the greatest blessing we crave. Die, sleep, sleep, and perhaps dream!

Dreams, then, are a tool for escaping reality. The poor, living at the bottom of society, as depicted in Lao She's works, also use dreams in the same way. When they can't get enough food to stave off hunger, they resort to dreaming to alleviate their hunger. Perhaps I, too, chose dreams to escape the relentless autumn rain outside my window... Thinking this, I slipped into a dream.

"......"

Listening to the still monotonous sound of rain, I couldn't remember where I was for a moment.

After finally waking up, I subconsciously looked for Rinquanchuan, but found that I was the only one in the activity room.

Already gone? Well, it's about time to go home... It was then that I noticed I was covered in a blanket. I couldn't help but laugh, but I didn't know why.

It seems that Rinsenchuan is not a very cold person...

I folded the blanket, stretched comfortably, walked out of the activity room and locked the door.

I glanced at the time. It was six-fifty. It was already getting late. Even though I didn't like running in the rain, sometimes I had to be a man. Okay, let's rush home!

At 6:54 in the evening, I was sitting in a noodle restaurant not far from the school.

To hell with momentum and all that.

While enjoying the warmth, I wiped the rain off my body with a napkin.

Soon, the noodles were served. The various pre-prepared seasonings, simmered in the broth, released a delicious aroma. The eye-catching toppings floating on the noodles made me want to ignore the heat and devour them whole. However, all I could do for now was pick up the spoon and take a sip of the broth. I felt the hot broth pierce my abdomen like a thread, warming my hands and feet as well.

Indeed, eating is always a pleasure.

When I drank the last mouthful of hot soup, the remaining coldness in my body when I first entered the door was completely dispelled, and under the effect of the heater, my whole body was now warm.

Now I probably have the courage to go home in the rain. Thinking of this, I pushed the door open and ran out.

I kept running in the rain, even though I could still feel the sting of the rain hitting my skin, but I didn't stop. A question worth pondering echoed in my mind: