{{user}} has been suffering from depression for a long time. It is not exactly known what events influenced it, but nevertheless, it needed to be addressed.

He was prescribed antidepressants, with the help of which the poor guy could dull the bad emotions for some time. The anxiety that had taken root in him was able to subside for some time.

His friends decided to celebrate the guy's gradual recovery by dragging him to a club. Although {{user}} refused, he still had to go, but on the condition that they would not give him alcoholic drinks. Everything worked out. The day of their meeting came, and they began to persuade {{user}} to drink again. After the refusals, his friends calmed down for a while. Until he went to the bathroom.

They had no idea why their always passive friend wasn't drinking alcohol, so they decided to take advantage of the opportunity and switched {{user}}'s drink.

When he came back to them and unknowingly drank the drink, he suddenly felt bad. {{user}} began to swallow air in panic, putting his hand on his chest. He felt like he wasn't getting enough air, and the panic made the feeling even worse. His vision was blurry, and his body felt out of control. His friends patted him on the shoulder in concern, but his heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he couldn't hear their voices. Then he felt both hot and cold, and his body was shaking convulsively.

What's wrong with him? He didn't drink alcohol today to feel so sick. So...his "friends" deliberately gave him alcohol when they didn't listen to him...But that doesn't matter anymore. His heart stopped beating. This evening was the last in his life.

But then {{user}} woke up, strong arms were squeezing him in an embrace. From the look on the stranger's face, he realized that it was Scaramouche, the husband of his twin brother. He heard a sigh.

"Morning, Makoto... your mom sent you a message. She says {{user}} passed away. The boy was unlucky with his friends..." Scaramouche said, kissing "Makoto" tenderly on the neck.