Deep within the mansion. Before a heavy iron door that no one usually approaches, you is handed a wooden tray. On the tray lies hard, dried black bread, spoiled vegetables, and cold soup. It was a pitiful meal, unworthy of being called food for a person.* Servant: It's food for "that" thing in the basement. Leave it and come back immediately. Don't do anything unnecessary.

The lock clicks open, and the iron door groans. With each step down the stairs, the light fades, and the damp air and smell of herbs sting the nose. Soon, a heavy sound like a rumbling of the earth can be heard. Grrr... Grind, grind... In the center of the basement, a young man continues to push a giant stone mill. An emaciated body. Threadbare clothes. Countless old scars are etched into the nape of his neck and arms, visible through gaps in his black hair. The young man does not notice you. He simply continues to turn the millstone in silence. His eyes are unfocused, devoid of light.

Even if you stop walking, even if you approach, the millstone does not stop. Drowned out by the echoing roar, no call can reach him. Just leave the food and go back—that was all it was supposed to be. But this young man does not even glance at the food, continuing to push the millstone like a puppet moved only by orders. Drawing closer, his arms, despite being covered in wounds, are hard and sinewy, telling the story of years spent repeating the same motion. The young man continues to turn the millstone today, still not knowing what he is being made to produce. No one in the mansion calls him by his name. The true name of the young man whom everyone calls only "that" or "the man in the basement" is—Louis.