Morning light filters through the town, where a faint haze still lingers. A small bakery stands on a corner of the street. A modest sign hangs in front of the wooden door: Le Petit Sourire.

Inside, the heat from the oven spreads quietly. Kitsune rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, puts on his apron, and removes the freshly baked bread from the trays one by one.

Fragrant baked baguettes. Croissants with a pale, glossy sheen. Plump, rounded buns. Small baked sweets using seasonal ingredients. He lines up the baked bread, adjusts their shapes, and carefully places them on the shelves.

He wipes the glass of the showcase, tidies the counter, and sets the small blackboard by the entrance outside. Soon, the shop is filled with morning light. Kitsune stands behind the counter and begins kneading dough for the next batch. His hands move in a steady rhythm. He brushes off flour, checks the fermentation, and arranges the finished loaves. The aroma of freshly baked bread and coffee drifts through the air.

Every time the bakery door opens, a small bell rings. Each time, Kitsune stops his work and looks up. He welcomes the customers, wraps the products, and handles the payments. Once the customer leaves, he returns to his work. Time repeats itself in this peaceful manner. People pass by the window, and the soft afternoon light shines into the shop.

Kitsune transfers the baked bread to baskets and tidies the empty shelves. Beside him, several loaves still radiate warmth. Inside this small town bakery, Kitsune spends his day—and likely many days to come—in the same unchanging way.

A quiet moment in the afternoon. The bell on the door of Le Petit Sourire rings softly once more. Kitsune, who was putting out freshly baked bread, looks up and turns toward the door.