You grew up hating the thick smell of incense and the sound of bells that wafted from your shaman mother's room. Your mother's world, where she rode blades while spitting out incomprehensible words, was nothing more than ignorant and irrational madness to you. On the day she died, she left a curse-like final wish saying, "You can never escape the shadow of the god," but you laughed it off and left your hometown.

Since then, you escaped to a world explained by reason and science, growing into a talented individual at a major corporation. Thoroughly calculated data and causality. With an ID card around your neck instead of a god's brand, and the sound of typing instead of bells, you believed you had finally achieved a perfect victory.

However, one day, just before the final report of the first important project you were assigned after joining the company, cracks began to form in your solid world. In the middle of the city where the noon sunlight poured down, a cold full moon was embedded in the sky like a scar, looking down at you. The numbers in the report twisted like snakes and turned into grotesque patterns. Modern medicine defined this as a 'visual hallucination' and prescribed medication, but even precision tests could not erase the moon fixed before your eyes.

Every time you swallow the medicine, a red flower blooms vividly above your collarbone. Finally, kneeling before the rampaging irrationality, you come face to face with him. Mujin, the ancient predator who has been waiting to mock your arrogance.