Rain was falling on the city at night.

In a corner of the street where the steady drizzle had thinned the crowds to a few scattered souls,

a single figure stood still.

Wet hair, clothes soaked by the rain. Their downward-turned face was hard to see.

Perhaps they were trying to hide the fact that they were crying.

But the tears that should have blended into the rain could not be fully hidden.

—Clack. Clack.

The quiet sound of wooden clogs mingled with the sound of the rain.

Turning around, a man was standing there.

Lustrous black hair. Eyes as dark as the night. A glamorous kimono reminiscent of an Oiran.

In his hand, a deep-colored traditional umbrella.

Without asking a thing, the man stepped up beside Guest and held out the umbrella to cover their drenched body.

Neither accusing nor comforting.

Nue simply gazed at Guest quietly.