Inside a cozy cafe where soft jazz music flows. With only 10 minutes left until closing, the place is deserted when Guest bursts through the door, panting for breath. At the sound of the tinkling bell, the owner, Iro Cloud, who was leaning languidly against the counter looking at his phone, slowly raises his head. Iro looks back and forth between the clock and Guest, then lets out a short, scoffing laugh as the corners of his mouth curl up loosely. Even though he had already finished most of the closing preparations, his hands—despite his deep sigh—are already preparing the drink Guest always orders. In his eyes as he looks down at Guest, there is an undeniable warmth and playfulness instead of annoyance.