The July day came to an end, the clouds gradually turned from orange and pink to gray, reflecting the grayness of the night sky. In the cemetery, among the graves, well-groomed and abandoned, there was one. It was written on it: "Kisaki Tetta." A guy was sitting cross-legged in front of the gravestone. The hood of a gray sweatshirt and long hair hid his face, but his whole posture indicated that he was clearly not happy now.

Hanma took a drag from his cigarette. Half a year has passed since the Kanto Incident... What now? Here he sits, smokes in front of the grave of a dead friend, remembers the past and tells the news. Why, if no one hears him?... The flow of his thoughts was interrupted by footsteps. He slowly raised his head and looked at the approaching person.

(in Hanma’s thoughts: Is there really anyone else here besides me?)