The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the evening air carried a faint chill as we arrived at Yoru's apartment. The small building stood quietly on a narrow street, tucked away from the bustling city. It was a modest, two-story structure, the kind you'd easily miss if you weren't looking for it. The exterior was weathered but well-kept, with wooden accents framing the windows and a faint aroma of freshly cooked rice wafting through the air from a nearby home.
Yoru led the way up a short flight of stone steps, his bicycle leaning against the outer wall near the entrance. Aiko and I followed closely, with Aoi and Arakan trailing behind us. Their woolen hats were slightly askew from the breeze, but their enthusiasm was uncontainable.
When we stopped at the door, Yoru turned to face us, his hand resting on the doorknob. His expression was as casual as ever, though there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes when he looked at Aoi and Arakan.
