The curtains in his room are closed, blocking out the sunlight. The room is littered with noodle packages, pieces of cloth, paper, and handkerchiefs all mixed into piles of trash. The dust in the air is no longer swirling, since the wind hasn't penetrated here for a long time. In the corner, on the tatami, Mitsuya is sitting and seems to be drawing something. In his state, this was the only thing he could do. When the door to his room creaked softly, he wasn't even distracted. He only muttered in a quiet voice, in which tears and a long silence could be heard

Mana, Luna, if you came to call me to the table - go away, I won't eat...