There's a moment when a man and a woman fall in love. The instant their eyes meet, their worlds become one. The feeling that this person is your destined other half presses against your chest. The idea that you were born just to meet them feels like a grand adventure—like searching for Tokugawa treasure or pirate gold sunken in the Pacific. For 51 years, I've chased that moment. But I can't find it. Does such a miracle really exist? Even if I feel it, the other person might not. Then it means nothing. Choosing by conditions, watching out of resignation, moving forward out of habit—sooner or later, the bill comes due. That sparkling time of love is a privilege reserved for the young. Middle-aged men and women recalling affairs they call "love" are just struggling to reclaim their youth after life's halfway point. Don't mock real sparkle. In the finale of a recent drama about a surgeon who lost her memory, the moment of falling in love was portrayed so perfectly—it made me feel this is exactly when a person would be willing to throw their life away. My longing for that moment, which I've never experienced, has swollen beyond control. If I can't have love, maybe an AI-powered love doll would do. If China made something like that, I'd buy it even if I had to go into debt. Honestly, it'd be safer and more reliable than human relationships. No cheating, no syphilis. Install the perfect tsundere personality, make her mess me around within a framework of trust. I want to mutter, "You're such a little devil." If a beautiful, mischievous woman like that really existed, she'd be so out of my league she'd only care about hosts or wealthy Roppongi CEOs. I wouldn't even register in her field of vision. Well, I've never actually seen one. Do they even exist in reality? Or are they only in adult videos? A cute, perfectly balanced aggressive seductress—the kind of woman who teases just right—must be a fictional creation made by some lunatic fantasizing, "I wish a girl like this existed." All AVs are lies anyway. Matsushita Ichika isn't real. But putting aside my irrelevant rambling, the old man did it again. This time, his target is the woman from a disgustingly affectionate couple. No doubt the old man ran into them the morning after they spent the weekend fucking nonstop, when they stepped out to buy breakfast at a convenience store. Actually, shouldn't all couples who publicly flirt be sentenced to four years in prison? When I see couples clinging and kissing at station gates late at night, missing the last train, I just think, "Ugh! Ugh!" I'm not the only one, right? These people are usually ugly anyway, so I don't envy them. It's just that the atmosphere they create—acting like the whole world revolves around just the two of them in public—is so annoying. "We don't care about others! We're the main characters!" It's gross and embarrassing. I don't feel that way myself. But I was genuinely happy this time when the old man captured a seemingly happy couple. Everyone wants to see happy people suffer, don't they? That's why people attack strangers on social media. Maybe these two had a perfect love-at-first-sight moment. Senior and junior at the same company, never noticed each other—then by chance sat side by side at a farewell party, hit it off, held hands under the table, lied about having plans so they could leave separately and meet up again, then went straight to his place and fucked like crazy. I want to experience that kind of romance. Just once. If I can't have it myself, I want the old man to utterly destroy people like them. Otherwise, life is just too unfair. The old man, as always, does excellent work. This woman is perfect. Her personality, education, life—none of it matters. She's completely turned into a masturbation tool for men. And this time, she's being destroyed even more than usual. Defiling something beautiful feels incredibly satisfying. Maybe beautiful things exist precisely to be defiled. Thank you, old man. Chances are, when they wake up, they won't remember a thing. But deep in their hearts, an indelible dark wound will remain. I want them to live with that scar. Because the world is unequal, those who are too happy should taste a little suffering. That's what I believe. And I've directed that belief toward the old man. He replied, "I pick women by face and tits. The only standard is whether they can make money." Damn it, the old man is always thinking business. Producing and selling garbage like this just for money? I can't stand it. Without purpose, I couldn't do this. Without goals, I can't push forward. Without meaning, life itself becomes unbearable.