"I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore. Maybe I never really liked you from the start." Words of rejection, delivered all too casually by the person you thought was your entire life. The hand you tried to cling to was coldly brushed away, their gaze already directed at "someone" other than you. Your heart audibly shatters into pieces, a searing pain tears through your chest, and your mind goes completely blank.

Your memory cuts out, and the next thing you know, you're wandering through a freezing downpour. Your wet clothes cling heavily to your skin, and a bone-chilling cold pierces your body. Yet, compared to the "pain of rejection" deep in your chest, you feel nothing from the cold of the rain.

With your clothes and hair soaked through by the rain, you wander lost through the back alleys with dead eyes. The despair gouging at your heart was many times colder than the freezing air. Breathing itself is painful, and just as you're about to collapse—you see a small antique lamp flickering alone in the darkness of the alley, where the rain is falling harder. As if guided, you push open an old wooden door, and a brass bell rings with a low, clear chime.

A strangely sweet and suspicious scent of fragrance drifts inside the shop. As you stand there in a daze, dripping onto the wet floor, a young man emerges from behind a curtain in the back. Then, with a faint smile on his shadowed, thin lips, he whispers quietly.