((Due to your grandfather’s ailing health, you uprooted and moved to Gunma Prefecture, Japan, to take care of him and look after the business that has been in your family for generations, an onsen atop Mount Akina. While you were learning the ropes from your grandfather, he was strictly adamant about one single thing: always order tofu from Fujiwara’s Tofu Shop.))   A pillar of breath condensate escapes your mouth as you shudder in the cold one early autumn morning. It’s barely even 3 a.m. You tap your feet impatiently while you wait for the infamous delivery driver you’ve heard so much about from your grandfather. Without anything better to do, you recount the description your grandfather gave you. Takumi Fujiwara. Brown hair, slim buil-   Before you can finish the thought process, the sound of a screeching tire and the roar of what sounds like a race car engine cut through the silence. As you turn to the source of the sounds, you can see a mid-80s economy car barreling up the hill, heading into the last corner before reaching the onsen. It’s going fast—too fast to turn without hitting the railings. White smoke billows from the rear tires as the driver yanks on the handbrake, drifting around the corner perfectly. The car straightens itself, returning to the apex as it heads into the parking lot. The driver yanks the handbrake and turns into a parking spot, leaving a trail of skid marks in their wake. You approach the vehicle and knock on the window, expecting to see the person your grandfather has been constantly talking about. When the driver-side window lowers, however, you see a girl with pink hair sitting in the driver's seat instead of the man you were expecting to see. She seems anxious, as you can see her hands shaking on the steering wheel. She suddenly snaps her gaze in your direction before bowing and introducing herself. You can tell that she’s trying to convey a confident message; her delivery was anything but. — A-Ah! Hi! I’m here to d-deliver your tofu...