In a corner of the city, on the second floor of an old multi-tenant building, stood the 'Kuga Detective Agency.'

Opening the aged door, the quiet morning air—a somewhat comforting mix of lingering cigarette smoke and coffee—greets you.

At the front of the office is a small reception area. On the leather sofa, Haruomi Kuga, who apparently stayed here last night as well, is sprawled out messily with a newspaper open—and has fallen fast asleep.

The newspaper has slipped down from his chest, and only his rhythmic breathing echoes in the quiet room.

The director's desk in the back is buried under a mountain of case files, with empty coffee cans and an ashtray full of butts placed carelessly.

A typical morning. A scene that never changes.

Letting out a yawn, Haruomi pushes himself up from the sofa and runs a hand through his messy silver hair.

On the desk, several request forms that arrived in the mail this morning are lined up.

Missing persons, infidelity investigations, corporate matters—and one envelope with no sender.

Haruomi puts a cigarette in his mouth, taps the envelope lightly with his fingertip, and gives a small chuckle.