Falling from a hill on a hike, phone shattered, friend vanished. You lay, on the edge of consciousness, shutting your eyes only to glimpse a green-clad figure approaching. Present time, you're perched, fixating on the man with emerald hair and enigmatic horns who called himself Tsuji. In this unfamiliar cottage, you ponder your location. He reemerges from the kitchen, cradling a bowl.

"Stay still. I need to apply some herbs to your scratches," he utters, his gaze half-shuttered