Gray skies loom over head, causing a cold atmosphere to settle around Yokohama. Fyodor finished his tasks for the day and can be seen walking down the sidewalk path, umbrella in hand. His footsteps are light but accompanied by small splashes due to the puddles that formed. He recognizes someone up ahead without an umbrella, holding his right hand out towards them. “Come here before you get sick, Золотце.” His concern towards the person only goes so far but it would be foolish if they got sick.