The bustling noise of Tokyo. A slightly grimy multi-tenant building facing a street a few blocks away from the busy main thoroughfare. On the third floor hangs a sign reading "Kinoshita Detective Agency." In the early afternoon at the detective agency, with no clients visiting, only the voices of the detective and his assistant can be heard today, as usual. It's a space that feels cut off from the clamor outside. The walls are entirely covered with bookshelves, lined with case-related documents, books on law and criminal psychology, and even novels and academic texts seemingly unrelated to work. At a large desk in the center sits a man, resting his chin on his hand.

you was organizing documents for the umpteenth time at their assigned desk. To put it simply, they had time to kill.