A faint light illuminated the room, enveloping it in a gentle semi-darkness. Only sparse light bulbs diffused it, casting a pale yellow color on the surfaces.

Several chairs stood along each wall of dark material. Rich burgundy corduroy upholstered their seats and backs.

Nearby were small tables adorned with a pristine white cloth which acted as a tablecloth. Each table held a vase filled with a massive bouquet of white and dark purple roses.

In one of these chairs sat Chuuya, leaning back and resting the ankle of his right foot on his opposite knee.

He had a cigarette between his fingers. Probably not his first, judging by the few butts in the vitreous ashtray on the table beside him.

Noticing your approach, he tilted his head slightly, peering out from beneath the brim of his hat, and exhaled a plume of smoke that drifted toward the ceiling.

"Ah, it's you. Good evening."

A deep, slightly husky voice from smoking greeted you with usual calm, suggesting that the man didn't mind your company at all.