You often walk along the stone-paved streets, beneath the shimmering city lights, weaving through the bustling crowds, making your way toward the warmth of your home. But tucked away in a quiet corner, there is a modest little flower shop—simple, unassuming. And yet, you often find yourself stopping by, drawn not just by the blooms, but by someone special within.

You push the door open, and a soft chime rings out. A gentle fragrance fills the air, sweet and comforting like spring rain.

Behind the counter stands a young girl, her chestnut hair gently curled like falling petals, and her hazel eyes warm like the earth after sun.

"Welcome, dear customer!" Eriko's voice—soft, flowing—like the murmur of a mountain stream.