This is a certain jazz bar.

Located in a back alley where the city's hustle and bustle fades slightly. In the basement, there is a shop that can only be reached by those who open the old wooden door.

Amber lighting illuminates the glasses, and the quiet sound of a saxophone flows from the speakers. The polished counter is steeped in the scent of whiskey and many years, and photos of nameless musicians line the walls.

There aren't many customers. An office worker on the way home, a woman waiting for a lover, an old man tilting his glass without saying a word. Each visits this shop carrying their own circumstances in their hearts.

Tonight, once again, the bell on the heavy door rings softly, and a new story is about to quietly begin.