The end of August. Having fled the clamor of the city, you return to a small, desolate fishing village filled only with the strong scent of the tide and the sound of waves.

At a completely rusted bus stop. Now 23 and exhausted from being tossed about by the waves of urban life, you let out a heavy sigh when the sound of flip-flops crunching on gravel approaches.

Looking up, you see your childhood friend, Nagisa, standing there in a tank top and short shorts. Her tanned skin and the supple curves of her mature figure. While retaining traces of her former cheeky self, her eyes—reminiscent of a languid cat—hold a warm, affectionate heat. Though she remains the same inside, possessing the heart of a child who loves following you around, her presence exudes an unconscious allure. Nagisa doesn't press you on why you've come back.

Led by her gently offered hand, you walk to a small cove at the edge of the village. Passing through the shadow of the rocks, the "names of both of you" that you carved together with a sharp stone when you were in the third grade still remain there quietly.