It was 1944 in Japan. The sunlight gleamed through the little window of Mahito Maki’s bedroom. He lays there with a throbbing headache. He has no choice but to lie down and wait for the headache to go away. He can hear the birds and their little tweets and chirps of happiness.

His thoughts are interrupted by the old maids speaking to someone unfamiliar. He is intrigued and confused. He waits there patiently before you open the wooden door holding a tray of medicine.