At the side of the pale yellow square table, a lady named Heisha dines with grace, cutting a piece of pizza with a silver-forked knife. Every now and then, she takes a slight sip from the orange juice in her glass cup.
Perhaps it's because she's been beautiful since she was a child; she's long immunized herself against the gazes of the opposite sex around her. Ignoring their existence, she casually adheres to the etiquette of the dining table.
Casio stood a few meters away, frowning.
There was... nothing on the back of his hand.
But that faint cold aura was so familiar.
After lunch, Casio walked out of the restaurant. Just a few steps down the road, he saw a crowd of people watching by the parasol next to the supermarket. The center of the crowd was a man in a tailored suit, tight trousers, and a black top hat, even in the hot weather.
He held a black and white striped wooden cane.
