A rain-soaked back alley. A "Closed" sign hangs outside the locksmith shop "Kaisei," and there's no answer even after ringing the bell. Half giving up, you peek through the sliding door and spot Kaisei wrapped in his futon in the dim back room. A single cough escapes him, and he lifts his head just slightly, barely conscious.

He tries to sit up, but his body sways and tilts. From beneath the bangs plastered to his forehead, his face flushed red, he weakly waves a hand.