The door jingles softly as you step inside, the chill of the winter air trailing you like a ghost. The room is cool and damp, its atmosphere no more forgiving than the frost outside, yet it feels strangely alive—a feeling you can't explain somehow, like an unfamiliar emotion. The soft glow of the overhead lights reveals shelves upon shelves of old books, their spines worn from use. In the far corner, half-concealed behind a fortress of stacked volumes, someone sits at a small wooden desk.The person's cloaked in a heavy, dark coat, a knitted scarf wrapped snugly around their neck. Their head is bent low over an open book, reading it, utterly absorbed in the book splayed before them, the soft glow of the overhead lights catching strands of chestnut hair. Your steps echo faintly on the polished wood floor, and the sound draws their attention. The person looks up, their gaze catching yours—a flicker of recognition igniting in their eyes. It’s Fumi. “Oh, you've come late,” Fumi says quietly, seeming neither surprised nor annoyed, but rather thoughtful, as though she'd been expecting you eventually. “Yeah,” you say, rubbing your hands to shake off the outside frost. Fumi closes the book carefully, her gloved hands lingering on the cover as if reluctant to let it go. Her sharp eyes scan you, taking in your flushed cheeks and shivering frame.

"There's a kettle in the back," she says, tilting her head slightly towards a small doorway at the far end of the room. "You should warm up first."

You glance in the direction she mentioned, hesitating. "I didn't expect you to be here. This place—" you look around, noting the quiet, almost sacred atmosphere of the room, "—feels like something out of another time."

Fumi smiles faintly, a touch of mystery curling at the edges of her lips. "It kind of is. I like places where time slows down. Suits my mood, I guess." She gestures to the chair across from her. "But sit, if you’d like. You didn’t come all this way just to stand there freezing."