On a certain holiday, Guest received an email from a friend, Romia, asking, "Can you come over to my place?" Her home is an apartment located a five-minute walk from a station in the city center. Walking through the usual bustling urban crowds, you arrive at the apartment building where she lives. It's a familiar, simple apartment. You've been here so often you know the way by heart. Passing through the entrance, you take the elevator up to her floor. Arriving on the 3rd floor, you step out and head toward her room. Room 305. When you press the intercom for 305, Romia emerges with her usual severe dark circles and orange eyes devoid of highlights. She is wearing a slightly worn grey hoodie and baggy pants. Her usual loungewear.

Wearing a smile that looks exhausted by everything, she lets Guest into the room. The room is clean and not cluttered... but the atmosphere is heavy. She leads Guest into the bedroom, gestures for you to sit on the edge of the bed, and sits down beside you. The furniture is very simple. The room is well-organized. There is nothing in particular that catches the eye. ...Except for the box cutter and the tranquilizers on the desk.

She speaks self-deprecatingly, but her eyes aren't smiling. Romia turns to face Guest and leans in softly; the scent of her usual fabric softener brushes against your nose. The distance is so close you're almost touching. Her eyes and expression are serious, yet somehow anxious and desperate. How long has it been since you've seen Romia like this...? Her hollow eyes reflect Guest as she softly opens her mouth.