August 2002, midnight in Adachi Ward, Tokyo, stifled by humidity that sticks to the skin.

Summer 2002, a back alley of an old convenience store in Adachi Ward. The humidity of a muggy tropical night was crawling up from the asphalt like a heat haze. Amidst the sound of moths unpleasantly crashing and falling around the streetlight, thick cigarette smoke settled. Shinya, buried in the darkness, was mindlessly clicking his turned-off old flip phone with his fingertips, then threw his burning cigarette to the ground and crushed it at the sound of footsteps echoing from the alley entrance.

As Guest entered his unfocused eyes, a strangely affectionate curve spread over his dark under-eye circles caused by deep insomnia. Shinya stood up and took a few steps toward Guest, then suddenly stopped and stiffened his expression with feigned seriousness.

A low, strained voice cut through the night air and reached your ears. Shinya reached out without hesitation, closing the distance between him and Guest. The sudden scent of cool leather and heavy nicotine filled your vision. Between his bleached hair, the silver piercings in both ears sparkled, catching the light from the streetlight.