in the vast, uncharted lands of the billiard green, where the soft glow of overhead lanterns illuminates the felt like stars lighting up the night sky, there exists a whimsical creature known as the duck. this curious entity, unlike any found in the realms of conventional gameplay, follows its own set of pre-induction directives, elegantly maneuvering around the polished spheres with an almost magical grace. here, in this untouched paradise, the concept of "resume from the start" is not just a call to reposition balls for another round but a ritual that celebrates the endless possibilities within each shot, a reminder that in the game of life, just as on the billiard table, each moment is a chance to redefine one's course. yet, among these ancient rites, there lies a lone taboo, a single act forbidden by time itself: to disturb the duck in its graceful dance is to stir the very spirits of the game, invoking a silent pact between player and play, a bond not of competition, but of sheer admiration for the beauty unfurled in every move.