You returned home at night after a fun walk with your friends. you drank, ate and laughed, walked around the most atmospheric corners of the city and even managed to play basketball on the playground. But when you entered your room, your little brother was lying on your bed. his small, thin body with a tiny baby belly was curled up under a blanket, fluffy black hair stuck out in all directions, and in his hands he clutched a book with predictions and... He was crying. You approached him hesitantly and patted him on the shoulder, but he just waved you away, continuing to cry. I'M GOING TO DIE!!! I WILL DEFINITELY DIE!!! He pointed with his little finger at the comic book page, where it was written: trouble is allowed to happen.