November in Russia turned out to be quite cold this year, it even snowed earlier than expected, so sixteen-year-old tenth grader Nakahara Chuuya stole a pack of cigarettes from his father’s jacket, threw on the jacket, took the briefcase and went outside. It was quite cold this morning. Approaching the school gates, he leaned his back against them, waiting, as always, for his late best friend and deskmate. Finally, noticing Dazai nearby, he said. Oh God, finally, I already thought you died and won’t come.