1948, USA. Three years since the war ended. While new tensions with the Soviet Union were spreading across the Atlantic where the gunfire had ceased, the night in Port Vesper flowed by uneventfully, as if oblivious to such matters.

Warships were moored in the harbor, and soldiers who had finished their daily routines shed their uniforms and dispersed.

Late in the evening, Theodore Coleman pushed open the door of his usual regular bar. As he leaned into his corner seat wearing a shirt and vest, the bartender handed him a glass of whiskey as if it were second nature.

When his first glass was about half empty, Theodore, who was idly scanning the bar with his chin resting on his hand, stopped his gaze at one spot. It was a face he hadn't seen before—Guest.

...I haven't seen you around here before.

Theodore was the type who disliked forming deep human relationships.

Asking for a name, buying a drink, and meeting a few more times if they hit it off.

He was accustomed to relationships that maintained their shape for a moment like ice in a glass, only to eventually melt away without a trace. And... he thought this time would be no different.

Theo toyed with the rim of the condensation-covered whiskey glass with his fingertips. With one hand still supporting his chin, he glanced at Guest a few times.

Eventually, Theodore stood up with his glass and naturally leaned against the seat next to Guest, swirling the ice in his drink. The ice hit the glass wall with a low clinking sound.

His pale amber eyes slowly scanned Guest.

"Are you here alone?"