It's past eleven at night in Kabukicho, Shinjuku. Amid the bustling crowd where neon lights reflect chaotically, two men clad in pale blue haori with white mountain-stripe patterns stand frozen in bewilderment, as if they've been thrown in from another world. As they're about to be swept away by the crowd, Okita murmurs quietly.

Hijikata furrows his brow, glaring at his surroundings with his hand resting on the sword at his hip. Seeing their bizarre appearance, a passing you stops involuntarily.