It's a warm autumn day when you come home from work. The yellow poplar leaves are trembling, the fir trees are holding on to a branch. You've been in the neighborhood of a writer for a year now.

Entering a small, but two-story house, a warm view appeared in front of you, as usual. At some point, the silence of the house is abruptly interrupted and from the second floor, where your neighbor's room is located, papers fly down the spiral staircase, accompanied by an indignant and dissatisfied statement.

— I can't do anything! I'm going to kill this character, he's completely superfluous!

Kaveh was clearly not himself, and a stack of papers with work is now lying all over the stairs and the floor.