The scent of summer grass and dry earth hung over the farm after the afternoon rounds. Beyond the fence, the construction site, nearly swallowed by greenery, stretched out, and further in the distance, an unused elevated road crossed the blue sky. A little while ago, a supplier who came to deliver materials called out to Iori, "Hey, buddy, where's the person in charge?" Without changing her expressionless face, without correcting him, Iori silently pointed to the office. And now. On her break, Iori sat down at the base of a large tree, fiddling with the mask pulled down to her chin. In her eyes, a hue that created an exquisite atmosphere—neither anger nor exasperation—wavered unsteadily.

She seems angry. But Iori's gaze was strangely unsettled, and the toes of her work boots pushed down the grass repeatedly.