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I can’t go outside.

Because the crops are protesting.

But I also can’t go inside.

Because the rats are blocking the way.

…What should I do?

The farm owner was at a loss for words at the trials that had come upon him. He stared blankly at the scrum of rats and imagined his paradise beyond them, slowly raising his head as if giving up and sighing heavily.

Haa.

*Thwack!*

He slammed his head against the wall.

*Bang! Bang!*

He kept banging his head against the wall as if begging to regain his sanity. But even after doing so, the scenery before him remained unchanged, and he soon seemed to make some sort of resolution as he looked at the rats.

There was clearly a murderous intent in his eyes.

However.

“We will unite and fight!”

As if anticipating this, the rats raised their signs.

It looked like a protest slogan, but it was more of a threat. It meant that the moment he touched them, both the crops and the rats would come after him.

Seeing this threat, the farm owner twisted his lips. But his expression soured without him daring to attack them.

He knew it would only be detrimental to pick a fight with them.

But thinking it was a loss…

He felt his stomach twist.

His stomach was tied up in knots, and annoyance bubbled up inside him. At the same time, he felt the rebellious spirit that was rooted in American DNA creeping up.

“What are you guys?”

“No way. I won’t follow your orders.”

“Yeah, screw you.”

The spirit that made him rebel more vigorously when pressed and reject any orders shouted from above was speaking to the farm owner right now.

Was he really going to do what those little bastards said?

And the farm owner was ready to shout “Screw you!” in proper American fashion and resist those jerks’ will.

Thus, the situation became one of tension.

The rats stepped aside first.

But it didn’t feel like they were scared; it felt more like they were allowing him some consideration. As if they thought that since there were plenty of situations ahead, there was no need to resolve everything today.

The farm owner, annoyed by the rats’ attitude, walked past them toward his room.

He then locked the door as soon as he got inside and did the first thing he had to do.

“Hello? Is this 911? I’d like to report something.”

Using his tax dollars, those damn bastards were utilizing a service with a low rating.

—

The man called the police.

But that report… well.

It was unlikely to be properly received.

[911. What can I assist you with?]

[Yes, an intruder has entered the farm. In the house too? Yes.]

[How many intruders are there? Many? Yes. Can you describe their appearance and armament?]

[Yes. Their armament is primitive spear-and-sword level…? Pardon? Can you repeat their appearance?]

[So you’re saying that the intruder with the spear is a walking plant and the one that broke into the house is a rat…? Oh, and the rats are the size of human heads? They formed a scrum as a group? Yes.]

[…Let me check that again. So you’re saying that a group of plants wielding spears and rats the size of human heads have invaded? Yes, to the farm. Yes. You’re armed to resist? You’d hold your gun if it seems dangerous to fight…? Yes. Understood. Please hold for a moment.]

[Yes. I’ve connected you with the relevant department, and the police will be arriving shortly. Yes. Thank you for cooperating with the police. Oh, could you stay on the line? It’s important to know the situation in real-time. It’s safer that way, so please don’t hang up and wait for the police to arrive.]

…

…

…

[So you’re saying the police are taking a bit longer? Yes. I apologize. Are those “intruders” still on the farm? Yes, they are. Understood. Pardon? Ah, I asked because we need to know if we should arm ourselves depending on the intruder’s existence. Yes? You said they are wielding spears, so you’d need stab-resistant suits. Really? No matter how I look at it, it seems like body armor? Yes, just a moment. Ah, caller, could you put down the gun?]

…

[—Put the gun down! Fucking! Gun down!!]

[—-Wait, why are you aiming a gun at me—!]

[Put the gun down, hands up! Slowly kneel! Okay! Don’t think about anything funny and stay right there! If you resist, you’ll get shot! Okay, handcuffs on! We’ll do a blood test with the kit, so don’t move!]

[What the?! Do you think I’m some drug addict?! You crazy cop bastard—]

[Shut up! I told you not to resist!]

[The test is done. No drug response detected!]

[Really? You might have taken designer drugs? I think we should take you to the police station.]

[What?! I didn’t do drugs! I didn’t!]

[Let’s draw more blood and take a sample, then throw this drug addict into an empty cage.]

[Understood… excuse me, we’ll need to accompany you for your protection. Once the effects of the drugs wear off, you’ll be released, so don’t react too sensitively. We’re concerned you might cause trouble in a hallucinatory state. Once you’re sane again, we’ll connect you with a rehabilitation center. It’s a place sponsored by a large company, so you don’t need to worry about insurance. Let’s go.]

[What the…!!! I told you I didn’t do drugs!]

[Who could look at you and not think you’re on drugs? Let’s go.]

…

…

…

The man’s report did not go ignored.

On the contrary, the police who actually did their job were dispatched.

But… contrary to the man’s intentions, it was the farm owner who was taken away by the police.

…Perhaps it was only natural.

If he reported that the crops suddenly started protesting wielding spears and that rat-sized rats invaded his house brandishing signs before forming a scrum to block the way, what would the police think?

“Good grief, there are such terrible and frightening things happening! I must arm my officers immediately! It’s urgent, we must break down the roads and head to the farm shouting ‘Make a hole!’ nonstop!”

…Would they think that?

“Sounds like a crazy drug addict. What kind of drug would make someone call in something like this? Hm? A gun, really? This fucking bastard, why are you confessing to holding a gun? Damn it. We have to go. I’m busy as hell…”

…Would they think that?

Surely the latter possibility is much more likely, right?

Especially if they arrived at the farm and saw neither the “spirit-wielding plant” nor the “charming rats with a passion for football” that the caller described. In that case, wouldn’t it be reasonable for the police to curse, calling him a “crazy drug addict”?

Right.

One would think logically that this is correct.

But for the farm owner, who was the one caught up in this, it was maddening.

The sudden protest by the crops drove him insane. The rats gnawing at the door and blocking his way was infuriating as well.

Then the police treated him like a drug addict and threw him onto a freezing-cold floor, and the scorns of passersby looking at him through the bars… well, that pushed him to the brink of swearing.

If he had actually done drugs, that would be one thing—he hadn’t, yet he was getting those looks. He felt wronged to the point of madness.

Moreover, he was uncomfortable.

Perhaps because of the misunderstanding about being in a hallucinatory state, those damn police wouldn’t take off his handcuffs.

It was likely because they feared he might harm himself or cause a disturbance, but…

For the farm owner, this was an unbearable feeling of humiliation and rage.

“Fuck! Fuck! You donut-stealing bastards who don’t know how to do your job! Once I get out of here, I’m definitely hiring an expensive lawyer to sue you all! I will sue! Damn it!”

After all that suffering, the farm owner was finally able to leave.

“Since you seem to be fine, I’ll release you. Would you like me to take you to a rehabilitation center? Oh, you refuse? Understood. Take your time to think about it at home. You can come to the center whenever you like; they’ll welcome you kindly. And don’t worry about medical insurance; it’s a place sponsored by a large corporation, so you just need to pay a small fee. They even prepare various things for you when you leave, so you could consider it almost free of charge. So don’t feel burdened, just visit the center.”

…Ha.

The sky he saw after coming out of the police station was… truly clear.

Damn it.

“Those bastard cops are so sure I’m a druggie.”

The farm owner ground his teeth at the police while letting out heavy sighs at their ‘caring’ demeanor.

The farm he returned to was peaceful.

“Dammit. Seeing this was how I looked when the police came, they must think I’m a drug addict.”

Right.

It was peaceful.

Truly.

If the police had seen this peaceful scene right after receiving the report, surely they would have no choice but to believe he was a drug addict…

The farm owner gnashed his teeth at the plants and rats that had led him into this trial as he returned home.

Then he grabbed his wallet and smartphone, got in his vehicle, and drove out of the farm.

It felt like he couldn’t stay in this damn place any longer.

…

…

…

…But.

When he was about to leave in the vehicle.

For some reason, he felt something in the corner of the farm, like the plants and flowers were twisting.

 

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