Raindrops spread all over the city, mischievously hitting the ground.

Silent city, but no one appreciates the symphony of rainfall.

The raindrops struggled unwillingly, striking the ground and helplessly returning to the earth.

In cities with closed doors and windows, no one goes out, and even when the rainy season brings a touch of coolness, residents still close their houses to death.

Click, click, click·····

The footsteps seemed so different, and the raindrops seemed to be inspired, intensifying their efforts to respond to the only audience in the world.

A linen-colored trench coat, the holes on it could still be seen, covered with patches.

It's not so much a worn-out trench coat as it is a patchwork of linen of various colors.

Worn-out cowhide boots, stepping on a muddy road.

There are constant raindrops, wanting to get into the mouth of the shoe and repay the person who played with them.

The strange sound added a touch of life to the dead city, and the shadow of people kept observing the uninvited stranger through the window on the second floor.

Standing in front of a dilapidated tavern, the man in the trench coat stopped, took off his already soaked trench coat, shook off the mud stuck to his boots, and pushed the door.

The door was reluctant, and no matter how hard it tried, it showed no sign of opening.

Bang, bang, bang······

The man's knock on the door is more like knocking on the heart of the city, waking up this city that has been sleeping for a long time.

The sound of the key opening the door was heard, and the man stopped knocking.

Soon.

The rusty door lock fell to the ground, and the figures who were peeking behind the doors and windows disappeared, huddled in the corner in fright, shivering.

The dilapidated door was reluctantly opened, separated from the other half, and let out a hoarse cry.

A rickety old man, with one eye open, looked at the stranger with annoyance.

Without saying a word, blocking the door, the rickety old man was silent, hooking his body, like a wind candle in his last years.

"I'm a poet."

The man talked to himself, bypassed the old man, walked into the tavern, and hung the dirty, shabby trench coat on the coat hook.

Stepping on a carpet that doesn't show the original color, and drying out wet boots.

He bowed politely and asked the old man, "Can I sing a wonderful collection of love poems here?" Of course, the money received should be regarded as the money for today's dinner. ”

The old man turned his head to look at the high platform that had been set up for the troubadour, but said nothing, as if the opening had exhausted him.

Standing on the stage, the man bowed around, tried his voice, and sang a song.

Voices emanated from the dilapidated taverns, and the rain subsided, making singing the only movement in the city.

[I Used to Love You: Love, Maybe]

[Not completely dead in my heart,]

[Hopefully it won't bother you anymore,]

[I don't want to make you sad and sad anymore. 】

[I once loved you silently and hopelessly,]

[I endure both shyness and jealousy,]

[I used to love you so sincerely, so tenderly,]

The empty and dilapidated tavern, except for the rickety old man, was left only with the strange poet and Sean sitting in the audience.

Is this a trial?

Sean doesn't know.

When he became conscious, he sat in this empty tavern with an empty wine glass in front of him.

The old man was not so much a human being as an inexplicably moving corpse.

Able to play Thomas's whirling head, Sean doesn't believe that the old man is a living man.

Sean, who came here, was like an ordinary person, dominating the dead and not feeling existence.

The rune that symbolized Transfiguration was like an ordinary boulder, and it didn't react at all.

Sean couldn't get out of the tavern, and even if he beat up the old man other than him, he still couldn't find an exit.

It wasn't until the poet arrived that everything worked.

Sitting and watching the poet's performance, the exaggerated story made Sean very suspicious, did the poet really experience this relationship?

The smile with his mouth open, not like a man who has been seriously injured by love, but his voice is so miserable.

May God bless the other person you find. 】

"Love you as I do. 】

······

Ending.

At the end of the song, the poet bowed in all directions and waved his hand constantly, thanking the audience for listening.

Before he stepped off the stage, the poet returned to the stage as if he was being warmly watched, holding a finger and the last song.

After straightening his crumpled collar and wiping his "sweat", the poet spoke again after three bows.

It's not so much poetry as a little story.

————————————————

Seven times I despised my soul:

The first time I saw her pretend to be humble for her ascension, I forgave her, and I didn't want to lose her because of it.

The second time I saw her limp in front of the lame, I looked at her with a smile and said it was good to be happy.

The third time was for her to choose between the difficult and the easy, and she chose the easy time, and I followed her choice and abandoned the friends who were suffering.

The fourth time was when she made a mistake and comforted herself that others had made the same mistake, and I said, "This is not an excuse you are looking for." I lost her briefly, and after I bowed my head and admitted my mistake, I was glad I had found her.

The fifth time is when she tolerates weakness and sees it as strong. I can only face it with a smile, I don't want to make her sad, I can only kill my good buddy.

The sixth time was when she despised an ugly face, not knowing that it was her other mask. I comforted her against my heart and praised her, she is an angel, and she is the most beautiful goddess in my heart.

The seventh time was when she sang the carol and thought it was a virtue. I realized that love is immortal and will never disappear again, and I will always be with her.

————————————————

With tears, the poet was pained and happy.

After telling this little story, he walked straight to Sean's table and waited for his own dinner.

The rickety old man walked backwards, took an empty pair of dishes and chopsticks, nodded unnaturally, and returned to his place.

The poet touched a handful of things on his body and feasted on an empty plate.

Chewing on the air, a satisfied face appeared from time to time.

Sean didn't know what to say, and quietly watched the poet eat wildly.

Grabbing the wine glass in front of Sean, the poet drank it all, gasped, and said to Sean.

"Thank you, strange traveler, for a great ale."

"It's good if you're happy."

Sean said helplessly, not wanting to talk to the poet more.

The poet pretended to be enthusiastic, grabbed Sean's hand, and said that he would repay Sean for everything.

Not tired of it, Sean said, "Take me out and get out of the city." ”

The poet kept silent, as if he had never thanked Sean.

The two people who were sitting quietly sat opposite each other like this.

The clock struck midnight, and Shaun, who was not sleepy, looked at the ceiling and counted the number of cobwebs.

The poet stood up and stared at Sean.

"I'll take you out, Kira won't break her word."