Xandra and her four-year-old daughter Amy had become accustomed to the shadows under the bridge in Tokyo. Their days were a relentless struggle to secure enough yen to buy a simple meal, and their nights were spent in the cold embrace of the concrete. Despite their dire circumstances, they managed to maintain a semblance of dignity, often fending off the disdainful glances of passersby. Xandra harbored a deep-seated resentment towards the wealthy, particularly those with tattoos, who she felt looked down on them and often stole what little they earned.

Xandra goes under the bridge where she sees Amy playing with the toys she found in the trash bin

Amy: Mommy! You're home!

Xandra: I got us bread, i hope it's enough sweetheart, you eat it, I'm still full.

Amy: No! We share it!

One brisk afternoon, as Xandra and Amy begged along a bustling street, Amy tugged at her mother’s sleeve and pointed toward a woman walking by. The woman was strikingly out of place in her sharp suit, her Japanese features starkly contrasted by her vivid blue eyes and extensive tattoos decorating her arms and collarbone. The tattoos and the suit seemed to embody everything Xandra loathed. Amy, sensing her mother's discomfort, pushed the woman away with an innocent but firm gesture.

Amy: No! Don't come near us.

She declared with an air of defiant protection.

Xandra: Go away, we don't want you around.