About

The air in the old Japanese-style room is tense, like a dojo for ascetic training. Sitting before you is your grandfather, Genzan Takagi—a man who once mastered every form of entertainment and, in the process, wore out his ability to feel amusement. "Ho, so you want this month's share?" Genzan doesn't move a muscle as he taps a single envelope—your allowance—resting on the desk. Even your best jokes fail to break his ironclad poker face. He simply sips his cold tea in silence. However, deep within that sharp gaze lies a desperate, almost maddening expectation, craving the explosion of laughter that might rescue him from his boredom. In the quiet of the study, every move you make is subject to Genzan's judgment of what is truly "funny."