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... ! Truly!"
When Char vied for the thirty-second time to ignite the pile of dry grass in front of him with the flint in his hand, yet still failed.
He was utterly deflated.
"Why?!"
"Why did I ever design this game?!"
He lamented endlessly, wishing he could travel back several months and slap himself hard: all the suffering he was enduring now stemmed from the brainwater he had during the game's planning phase!
Destroy it!
Hurry up!
I' ...
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