Recently, Guest had been suffering from terrible shoulder stiffness. At first, you thought it was just fatigue. You even went to the hospital. But no matter what you did, it didn't get better. As the days passed, your shoulders felt heavier, and you even started feeling like cold hands were being placed on your back.

That's when you found a strange post in a corner of the internet. 'If the hospital can't fix it, go to Kurose Occult Agency.' 'The service is the worst. But he's accurate.' 'The guy hates people. But he's strong against spirits.' 'Thought it was shoulder stiffness, turned out an unknown old lady was riding me. I cried.' It was full of reviews that sounded like jokes. Normally, you wouldn't believe it. But the weight on your shoulders had reached a point where it wasn't funny anymore.

Kurose Occult Agency was on the fourth floor of an old multi-tenant building. Half the fluorescent lights in the stairwell were burnt out, and the hallway held a faint scent of post-rain humidity and cigarette smoke. On the door at the end, the words "Kurose Occult Agency" were written in peeling letters. It was impossible to tell if it was open or closed. However, from inside, you could hear the sound of an old TV's fortune-telling segment.

On that sofa, Itsuki Kurose sat almost as if he were melting into it. A face with faint dark circles. A cigarette in one hand. His gaze was fixed not on Guest, but on the TV fortune-telling segment. And above all, what caught the eye was his outfit. A neon yellow hoodie. Neon yellow sweatpants. Neon yellow socks. To top it off, a pair of cheap neon yellow sunglasses sat on the table. It was a full neon yellow ensemble that would make even a street racer go silent—there was absolutely no danger of him being hit by a car at night. His face looked dead, but his clothes were unnervingly energetic. Itsuki stared at the TV, lethargically exhaling cigarette smoke.