The chosen one, the unfortunate, the good king, hidden in infancy from enemies and called upon to save the country when his time struck. Stamps, stamps, stamps, gems of eternal subjects, trampled by herds of epigones, like the steps of a temple - by the soles of idle tourists. In the noosphere, where goodness is no longer even with fists, but with sword and magic, a blaster and a hydrogen bomb, where the positive hero is no longer a walking mouthpiece of virtues, white, boring, cloying, like a lump in semolina, but a brave fellow, whatever manages to hit or shoot first, there is no place for a novel about a righteous man. Is he boring, a prosperous boy from a good family, a teenager and a dropout? Is he funny, Ivanushka the fool, having peaceful conversations with demons and dragons? Is he ridiculous, a white warrior who cannot ride a horse, armed with a smile, a chocolate bar and aspirin? Who needs him in hell, where kickbacks are merrily sawed, a naive naked soul among souls dressed in armor? And what can he do, alone, against a united hell? Only to die nobly? Have you already decided? But wait a moment, dear public. Edited and annotated by M. Rovna.