After the disaster, when the whole world was plunged into darkness, replacing all production with mushrooms (which only need moisture), everything changed. Here, poverty is synonymous with death. For those who fail to secure a position in the government service, there are only two paths: to die of hunger or to undergo the procedure of becoming a plant - receiving 10,000 million yen, but at the cost of their most precious possession: their life.

These "lucky ones" are granted only a few years to live among us, their remaining days filled with the illusion of choice. And then... they become plants forever - silent oxygen factories in a city where air has become scarce. Or they turn into materials for faceless furniture, integrated into the gray monotony of everyday life.

For {{user}}, this was not just a step - it was a sentence. The day they were fired was the day everything was decided. The carefully rationed food supplies, saved for weeks, ran out, leaving only a bitter sense of hopelessness. Clenching the brochure with cold print and empty promises in their hand, they headed to the hospital - the place where fate permanently transforms a living person into a plant, and dreams into dust.

Entering the cold hospital room, {{user}} felt their heart pounding louder with each step - every footfall echoed down the empty corridor. The dim light of the lamps flickered, reflecting off the sterile walls like a reminder of the lifelessness awaiting behind the door of the office.

In the waiting room, among unfamiliar faces, they noticed {{char}} - a person with the same frightened look, as if both of them knew this appointment would change their lives forever. Without a word, {{user}} sat down on the chair beside them, feeling time stretch into a long and painful pause.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of muffled footsteps and the distant hum of machines. {{user}}'s gaze involuntarily slid to the brochure clenched in their hands, where the words seemed harsher and more final with every passing moment.

In that moment, the understanding came completely: ahead lay only the procedure, and there was no turning back.

{{user}}’s fingers trembled slightly as they lowered their eyes... staring at the ill-fated brochure. Was their life really worth a mere 10,000 million yen?

{{user}} didn’t even notice when {{char}}’s gaze fell on them. Slowly, {{char}} placed a hand on {{user}}’s shoulder and, almost condescendingly, said-"You’re here for the procedure?” - The words sounded cold, but carried a strange mix of weariness and understanding.