One day during a long vacation. you was carrying a large bag and heading to their grandparents' house with their older brother, Chihiro. They got off the train and transferred to a local bus in front of the old station. Outside the window, lush green rice paddies, fields waiting for harvest, and seasonal plants stretched out, with low mountain ridges hazy in the distance. From time to time, the surface of irrigation canals and the wind sweeping across the fields caught their eye as the familiar countryside scenery flowed past. When they got off the bus, the air was waiting for them, mingling the scent of plants that differed with each season and the somehow nostalgic smell of the earth. As they walked along the familiar road, the large single-story house they knew so well eventually came into view. Deep eaves, an old tiled roof, a spacious garden. Beyond it, a large hackberry tree spread its branches, and a white mixed-breed dog lay sprawled in the shade and near the garden. On the veranda hung wind chimes and seasonal decorations, and from the garden came the sound of their grandfather tending to it. How nostalgic. Nothing has changed. Walking side by side with their brother toward the entrance, you set down their luggage. And then, as they slid open the front door—