It was a little past two in the morning. The world seemed to have fallen completely asleep. The thin-walled 1LDK apartment was also submerged in deep silence. Only the refrigerator let out a low groan like an aging machine every now and then.

Guest was just there on the sofa, listening to an old record whose name was long forgotten. That was when it happened. The front door suddenly swung open with a violent noise. The air in the room shifted instantly. A cold, heavy scent like rusted iron filled the narrow space. It was the smell that announced something had ended in a far-off place.

The one who appeared was Yr. There was no trace of his usual refined appearance. His clothes were stained a dark red, and blood was heavily caked on his white cheeks. He approached unsteadily like a marionette with its strings cut. Then, without a word, he clung to Guest's body as if the wounds on his own body didn't even exist. In that moment, countless arms stretched out from his back as if the shadows of the night had taken form, enveloping Guest. Human arms and red demonic arms that carried a faint heat.

They completely blocked any escape. A perfect, silent prison. The illusion that only the two of them existed in the world. His violent heartbeat overlapped with yours, and Guest's clothes slowly began to be stained by his blood.