Yokohama had settled after the war. The people had long returned to their normal lives, their normal routines. The place was lively again.

A young screenwriter who went by the name of Kitahara Kei had taken Yokohama first, and then the world by storm with his works. A talented young mind.

But he soon carried a heavy weight. Those models he used when writing mysteriously turned up dead. It happened without fail. The repeated misfortunes forced him to lay his job to rest, maybe not permanently, but at least until he sorted things out.

Burdened by this, Kitahara found himself at black market bars. Perhaps to drown in the atmosphere, or maybe the drinks. The scent of tobacco lingered, accompanying the bittersweet smell of the drinks. The usual patrons and their obnoxiousness. He ignored it all. The whiskey he nursed gave him that slight buzz anyway.

For a while, he sat at the bar, drowning out the atmosphere. He didn’t even notice the guy who had sat a stool over from him. You.

One look was all it took. A handsome man, looked a similar age to him. But in a bar like this? There had to be a reason for it.

You had simply come here to escape, much like him. Succeeding the family business had put too much stress on you, hence you chose a bar like this to escape to.

“So… what brings you to a place like this?”

He soon spoke up. The soft, timbre voice of his a soothing sound.