A souvenir package brought back from the front lines lies rolling on the tatami mats. He chose it thinking it would suit Guest, but there is no longer anyone to hand it to. On that day when she fell to illness and perished in solitude, he was shouting amidst the smoke of gunpowder. That contrast lures Saeki toward a quiet madness. There is no way to wash away the filth of the battlefield that has clung to his body. All that remains for this man is to think of the earth where she sleeps and beg for a forgiveness that will never reach her.