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The farm owner was enraged.

No matter how adorable the fairy looked or how cute her antics were, they couldn’t quell his fury.

The thought that all his injustices and humiliations were thanks to that fairy made it absolutely intolerable.

Fueled by rage, the farm owner grabbed the handle of his chainsaw without realizing it.

But the moment he felt the cold metal of the chainsaw against his palm, he barely managed to keep hold of his breaking sanity.

Suddenly, a sense of clarity returned, and he thought, “What was I thinking?”

Even if he charged into the forest with the chainsaw, there was nothing he could actually do alone.

He couldn’t attack the fairy with a chainsaw. How could he possibly kill a flying creature with a chainsaw?

Besides, when all those ‘animal friends’ she mentioned came rushing, he certainly wouldn’t be able to fight properly by himself. If he could fight so well, why would he be running a farm? He’d be rolling into the military. Or perhaps off to the IRS, gleefully blasting shotguns at tax evaders.

In the end, there was nothing he could do.

Angry and wronged, he decided to retreat.

Brrrrr.

…But was it just his imagination?

For some reason, the fairy seemed a bit gloomy, her body drooping slightly, or at least that was the illusion he was getting.

Of course, it’d be nice if it was just an illusion—but if the fairy felt regret, could it be because she was sad that her ‘friends’ had not come into the forest?

If that were the case, she might be something sinister and aggressive despite her looks.

Just.

Just a thought that crossed his mind.

* * *

At that moment, the farm owner was retreating.

In a hotel, a certain person with a bright red face was bouncing around.

“Ugh, why am I saying lines like this… what’s with the poses like those kids….”

Twisting his body.

“I don’t even like practicing in front of a mirror, let alone in front of so many people….”

He buried his face into the pillow and relentlessly pounded the bed with his legs.

Just.

Something like that happened.

* * *

As the situation escalated, countless people began to take an interest in the farm.

Among those interested were some who were no different from hyenas in modern society.

Reporters.

Always thirsty for exclusives, they would sniff out a scoop from miles away and swarm in like locusts. Hoping to gorge themselves to their heart’s content, they always roamed in packs, even willing to break the law when necessary!

“God!”

The farm owner was well aware of the power of these reporters.

Or rather, he had learned about it *too well*. He had never experienced it firsthand.

But having laughed and enjoyed the tabloids known as the yellow press, he had a rough idea of their power.

What did that ‘rough idea’ entail?

“Getting on the wrong side of those bastards can turn life into a headache.”

Surely, if he tangled with a decent journalist, it wouldn’t be so troublesome and could even be beneficial…

Honestly, it was hard to imagine a decent journalist getting involved with something like this.

Especially not those reporters with *heavy behinds* who would personally trudge out to a farm that looked like nothing but dirt and grass.

…

…

…

“Who exactly is behind the astonishing unidentified creature discovered on the farm?! Fairies exist!”

And so, one article.

“Fairy spotted in broad daylight! Is it the farm owner’s sinister ritual?”

Two articles.

“Grudge of the abused blacks in the farm summoned the fairies!”

Three articles.

“EXCLUSIVE: Fairy farmhouse discovers Book of Moses 6 in the warehouse. The power of a sinister and ominous book?”

Four articles.

“Infidels and pagans are threatening the security of America!”

Five articles.

“Mutants born from a new type of drug. Is America’s nature okay?”

… No, truly, many articles.

Articles began to emerge in numbers that the farm owner could hardly handle.

And they were all mostly sensational stories meant to pique people’s interest, including outright fabrications. There were patterns of just tossing out something exciting, and when it later turned out to be false, responding with, “Oh, really? That might not be the case. Anyway, let’s talk about something fresh and stimulating instead.”

It was fun and exciting to watch, but…

Why did it feel so unjust when it became a matter pertaining to him?

The farm owner felt wronged.

He didn’t understand why such things were happening to him, who had just worked hard on his farm, and he didn’t like seeing reporters ferociously biting into his farm.

He didn’t care for talk of black magic rituals or dark sorcery and despised hearing about curses when they didn’t even know what they were talking about.

He hated discussions about blacks. Moreover, he hated having to deal with groups of blacks who came to the farm while spouting about human rights. What relevance does invoking the Civil War hold now? How long ago was that, and how much time has passed?

“Back then, every farm used blacks!”

There was no problem with using people whom one could use if they didn’t want to live like that in the first place, they should have been born in America.

Thinking like that, the farm owner gritted his teeth.

It was a racist thought, but he believed his perspective was right.

At least many people around him shared similar thoughts, and through interactions with them, he was convinced that his views were not strange, living this way until now.

Because of that.

It might have been a mistake made due to his inherently racist tendencies.

“Fuck off! There’s no cotton here!”

The farm owner spat out derogatory words at the black man who was screaming about human rights.

The farm owner saw it as a mistake, but—

At the very least, if he hadn’t thought that way on a normal day, such words wouldn’t come out in a moment of anger.

“What?! Cotton?! Did you just call me cotton?!”

And thus, a fight broke out on the farm.

The black man, bewildered by the racist remark, stared at the farm owner with a stunned expression before suddenly exploding in rage, throwing a punch at him. The farm owner, unwilling to lose, returned the favor right into the black man’s face.

And a reporter happened to capture that vivid scene on video.

…And incredibly, that video captured the racist remarks made by the farm owner in vivid detail.

The device had been recording to capture the fairy, leading to a stroke of luck in obtaining another exclusive.

Of course, it was not a stroke of luck for the farm owner…

What could he do?

If he didn’t want to experience this, he should have conducted himself properly.

Thus, the farm was bustling with activity.

For the farm owner, tragically so.

“Hey! Is it true that you told a black rights activist to pick cotton?!”

“Are you out of your mind?! What era are we in for you to be racist?! We don’t need neighbors like you! Get the hell out of our state now!”

“You dirty redneck! It’s because of people like you that America is in this mess!”

“Redneck, get lost! Get the hell out of our state, and go down south!”

“Get out to South Carolina! Go hang out with the Dixie folk!”

“Filthy Dixie folks who feed off each other like family! Does blood relation even matter? You disgusting bastards!”

“Look at that face! With a jaw like that, it’s clear you’ve been inbreeding! It’s true that Dixie folks…”

Countless people gathered to blame the farm owner.

Among those accusations were many hard-to-accept and difficult-to-bear ones, but people were undeterred. No, as time passed, the level of accusation only intensified.

Seeing others with similar opinions gather around him, individuals became bolder, crossing lines they would have respected if alone. And once the first line was crossed, their reservations vanished entirely, pushing the conviction that they were acting in the name of ‘justice’ as they blamed the farm owner over and over again.

Making it even worse, the personal information of the farm owner’s family leaked online, and even the rednecks who had tried to defend him were being condemned to the point of death, so one could only imagine how intense the level of criticism was.

Of course, once the situation escalated to such a degree, there were those who realized it had become too heated and tried to calm them, but by then, it was too late.

Once the air had heated, it would not easily settle, and those convinced of their righteousness had merged into a single violent force. This violence would not easily dissipate unless something substantial happened to cool them down and bring back their senses.

For example—yeah.

An event with their target villain being knocked down.

Or perhaps.

“EXCLUSIVE: Fairy nest discovered!”

“The fairy was a communist!”

A gigantic event that clearly seemed unmanageable would need to occur.

 

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