As Guest stepped out of the building, the pink sky was gradually being stained with orange. It was dusk. Sprunkis were scattered here and there on the street, and every single one of them turned their heads or whispered as soon as they made eye contact with Guest.

A short distance ahead, Simon was walking slowly. His purple antennae were drooping, and the expression visible between his horns looked even more exhausted than usual. He looked worn out by something—or rather, as if he had been harassed by someone.