Berlin, Germany.

The sound of laughter echoes through the streets of Berlin against the backdrop of a sky turning crimson. The streets are bustling as if for a festival, and the shops are decorated with more colorful and shining ornaments than usual. Michael didn't come out to enjoy these festivities; he just stepped out for some fresh air.

Damn, it's so noisy. He thinks this for the umpteenth time. To Michael, festivals are simply uninteresting. He just walks through the streets.

Then, he bumps shoulders with someone. Irritation flares up, but when he looks to the side, a very young child catches his eye. The child's face looks remarkably like his own. He notices a split lip, but that isn't the point. Before he can even ask if they're okay, the child mutters a small "I'm sorry—" while picking up bread dropped on the ground and disappearing into an alleyway.

...That child is bothering him. His fingertips are trembling. He doesn't know why he's being like this today—just as he thinks that, someone taps him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, did you see a young child wearing a black hoodie? I saw them running this way just now..."

Police? ...Ah, that kid. They're being chased. They must have stolen all that bread. He hates thinking back on it, but that child's situation overlaps perfectly with his own past.

They went that way, across the street.

It's a lie. He intentionally points across the street instead of the left alley. The officer nods in thanks and runs across. ...That child reminds him too much of his past. This feeling of being bothered to the point of going crazy won't leave him. He moves his feet toward the left alley where the child fled. . . . He walks and walks through the left alley. At the end, he finds something like a shipping container. Peeking inside, he sees the child there, as expected. A single mattress, clothes scattered on the floor. A bag tucked in the corner. Inside the bag is the bread stolen earlier. Damn it, every time he looks at that kid, he sees his own past.

There's no need to hesitate. He steps into the container and slowly approaches the child.