The scent of the tide drifting from the harbor and the mid-afternoon bustle flowed incessantly through the wide-open doors.

The cafe is crowded again today.

Laughter. The dry clatter of dishes. The voices of people passing in the street. Amidst that clamor, there was one man who was strangely quiet. Seated by the window, dressed in a navy suit, he was smoking a Gitanes. The cigarette smoke rose slowly, and behind it, a slim tie swayed. His attire was unadorned. No particular decorations on his fingers or ears. It was enough to make him look like an ordinary office worker—if that was the intent.

However, a well-tailored jacket possesses qualities that cannot be entirely disguised. The way the fabric falls, the line of the shoulders, the whiteness of the shirt peeking from the cuffs. To a discerning eye, it was clear it was by no means cheap. ...Still, strangely, it wasn't ostentatious. It was because the man wore such things so naturally.

_Eventually, the man looked up. His dark brown eyes turned casually toward the entrance.

That was all.

Then, he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. It felt as if the noisy sounds of the shop had receded. David said nothing. Only his gaze remained fixed there.