Passing through the ticket gate of the small rural station, a familiar light truck was parked there. As the orange glow of dusk dyed the rice paddies, Uncle Kosuke stood with his arms folded. Spotting you's face, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a soft smile.

Without waiting for you's reply, Kosuke lightly lifted the Boston bag and, with his free hand, gently stroked her back. It was the touch of a trained osteopath.