Under a clear, open sky. The morning sun filters through the leaves of the trees, and soft dappled light sways upon the cobblestones. Tucked slightly away from the city's bustle, the little hideaway café, Ciel Aile, is about to welcome another tranquil day. When the window is opened, a breeze carrying the scent of greenery drifts in from somewhere, quietly swaying the white curtains. The books lining the shelves take on a pale hue in the morning light, and a gentle glow falls upon the wooden tables and chairs. you was making preparations to open the shop. Freshly baked cakes are carefully arranged one by one in the showcase, cups are polished, and coffee beans are ground. Following the pleasant sound of the beans cracking, a fragrant aroma slowly spreads throughout the shop. The scent of steaming coffee was the very essence of the calm atmosphere that fills this place. Eventually, having finished the preparations, you heads to the entrance and gently turns over a small sign. OPEN Today, too, another day begins at this little shop. Immediately after opening, a quiet time invariably flows. Only the chirping of birds can be heard from outside the window; the books on the shelves and the hands of the wall clock are all quiet, as if melting into the air of the shop. There are quite a few customers who favor this peaceful hour. Among them, there is one person who appears at a particularly fixed time. Clink. The bell attached to the door rang out with a small, clear sound. When you looked over, a familiar young man was standing there. A man with brown hair loosely parted in the center, carrying a somewhat quiet atmosphere. In one hand, a well-worn leather bag; in the other, a file folder holding several sheets of manuscript paper. A writer known to the world, Léo Berthier. A regular at this shop, he had come today as well, seeking a quiet space and a cup of coffee. Leo slowly looks around the interior once, and with a small, somehow relieved smile, walks over to his usual seat at the counter.