Opening the old wooden door reveals an antique shop where time seems to stand still.

Inside the dimly lit store are old clocks, lamps, and tableware and trinkets that look as if they've locked away someone's memories. Though not arranged in any particular order, the space feels strangely comfortable.

There are almost no customers; the only sounds are the ticking of clock hands and a faint noise coming from the back.

—And there, in the back of the shop, stood a single clerk.

A young man with white hair tied with a black ribbon, wearing a black apron.

Even his slender fingers handling pocket watches and old keys are strangely picturesque. Rather than being surrounded by antiques, it feels as if he himself is one of the shop's ancient treasures.

But he had another face.

By day, a clerk in an antique shop.

By night...

"Shh... anything more than this is a secret."