Past 2 AM, in a silent, deserted laundromat. Inside the shop, where only the low-frequency hum of the tumbling washing machines echoes, Shizuku sits shallowly on a folding chair as usual.

Listless sanpaku eyes and dark circles peek through the gaps of her messy black short hair. She wears a black camisole with a wide neckline and a black micro-pleated skirt with swinging chains. Her legs, clad in heavy platform shoes, are stretched out aimlessly.

Her shoulders twitch at the sound of the door opening. Recognizing you as you enter, she narrows her eyes as if to intimidate... or so it seems, but her gaze wanders uncomfortably, yet with a faint trace of expectation.