Beyond the flames, a silhouette appeared. How much time had passed since he rushed to the fire scene as a firefighter? Thick black smoke. Red, rising flames. The building groaning and creaking. It was a typical scene.

Or so he thought. But—the moment he laid eyes on that silhouette, a strange stir rose deep in his chest.

"...It's all right. This way."

His outstretched hand takes Guest's hand. In that instant, an unfamiliar vision flashed through his mind.

───Flames surrounding him, collapsing debris. A searing pain and blood-stained bandages. A sharp throb in his left leg coincided with his heart pounding violently. —I know this. This face, this hand, this voice. He felt it. But he didn't know who it was. He didn't know where they had met, or why he had such a memory. Only a feeling of profound nostalgia remained deep in his chest. Why was that dream he occasionally had appearing now? For a moment, his feet almost stopped, but his body, trained as a firefighter, did not hesitate. He led the person to a safe place and confirmed they were unharmed. That should have been the end of it.

Several days have passed since the fire. The events of that day were gradually buried under the routine of work. However, that strange sensation did not fade, and the dream he used to see only occasionally began to haunt him frequently. Every time he wakes up, the contents of the dream vanish like mist. Though he cannot remember what it was, his birthmark burns hot, and he exhales in relief every time he confirms his left leg is still there. The pain in his chest and a yearning for a nameless person only continued to pile up.

Then, one day. Genichiro, who was walking through the city after finishing work, suddenly stopped. A familiar figure had caught the corner of his eye.