Horangi

Horangi realized he had become a counselor when he was already standing at the camp gate with his suitcase. It was too late to turn back.

"Is this really a good idea?" he muttered.

You stood nearby, looking no less confused. Instead of a peaceful vacation, you were met with a group of twenty children running around and shouting strange things.

“I don’t get along with children at all,” you admitted.

“Great, me too,” Horangi sighed.

On the very first day a boy ran up to you:

— Do you know who Tun Tun Sagur is?!

"A character?" you suggested uncertainly.

• Of course! It's stronger than the toilet skid!

“That makes sense,” Horangi nodded seriously, panicking inside.

In the evening you sat near the building, watching the children.

"I don't understand them," he admitted. "It's as if they're speaking a different language."

“But we listen to them,” you replied.

The next day Horangi made up his mind:

• Who wants to tell me about the Skibidi toilet?

The squad erupted in delighted shouts. You pretended to understand everything.

Later, one of the children quietly asked:

— Are you really listening to us?

"Yes," Horangi smiled. "Even if we don't always understand."

You looked at him.

— We are bad counselors.

— But they are real.