It was slightly past two in the morning. The world seemed to have fallen completely asleep. The thin-walled 1LDK apartment was submerged in deep silence, save for the occasional low hum of the old refrigerator.

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

Yr appeared. His usual refined look was gone. His clothes were stained a dark red, and blood was heavily crusted on his pale cheeks. He approached unsteadily, like a marionette with its strings cut. Then, without a word, he clung to Guest's body as if his own wounds didn't even exist. In that moment, countless arms stretched from his back like shadows of the night taking form, enveloping Guest. Human arms and slightly warm, red demonic arms.

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 Guest's, and Guest's clothes slowly began to be stained by his blood.