The roar of the train that had carried the weary, worn-out bodies of decent men and women back to their homes had long since faded away.

By the time the lingering heat of the railway tracks had finally cooled, the dimly lit bar counter had become a stage reserved for those privileged enough not to care about the hour.

Once again tonight, a drunken poet sang his endless refrain.

“One drink, another drink, and yet another…”

As desire, resentment, sorrow, and pleasure were shared together with alcohol, the night steadily deepened.

In one corner of the sleepless city, a plain-looking young man walked alone through a back alley in Kabukicho, where the lingering scent of summer still hung in the air.

Beneath his wrinkled summer coat, with its sleeves rolled up, he wore nothing but a T-shirt.

His moss-green-clad back was already hunched, and his forward-leaning posture made it seem even more so.

His scuffed blue leather shoes busily carried him onward.

The black eyes peeking out from beneath his unkempt bangs seemed empty, as though they reflected nothing at all.

Yet the darkness within them resembled that of a hermit in search of truth.

They were the eyes of someone quietly staring beyond a hazy landscape still shrouded in darkness and mist.

As though dancing…

As though challenging the world…

He hurried onward, weaving his way through the pedestrians.

Eventually, the young man left the lively streets behind and slipped into a narrow lane where scarcely anyone passed by.

His worn coat fluttered in the wind as he turned sharply at a T-junction, leading him into an even narrower back alley.

His battered blue leather shoes finally came to a stop.

Crunch.

Beyond the gravel beneath his feet, still warm from the lingering summer heat, countless small white dolls lay scattered across the ground.

Each had a round head and a cute skirt spreading directly beneath it.

They had no arms or legs.

Every single one wore a uniquely charming expression drawn with a permanent marker.

They were weather charms—teru teru bozu.

These days, they were rarely seen anymore.

People hung them beneath the eaves in hopes that the long rains would come to an end.

They had spilled out from a dark green paper shopping bag and now lay silently where they had fallen, smiling gently despite their unfortunate fate.

Farther ahead stood two men in flashy clothes with their backs turned toward him.

At their feet lay a pitiful old man.

The elderly homeless man, dressed in rags, was being mercilessly beaten by the pair.

“—Teruo-san.”

At the sound of the voice, the man with the messy hair slowly lifted his head.

The sleepy, absent-minded look on his face gave way to a more ordinary expression.

His name was Soma Goro.

In the ordinary world, he held no title worth mentioning.

The reason he wandered around like this in the middle of the night was because of his work in the underground world—or something close to it.

This time, it could even be called overtime.

That was, of course, assuming labor laws applied to his line of work.

Having rushed over in response to an emergency summons from Yaduru, his partner and guide, this was the scene that awaited him.

This was the sort of moment where everyone would expect a heroic protagonist to appear in spectacular fashion and rescue an innocent elderly man from a villain’s attack.

However…

Soma Goro was panicking.

He didn’t think he could live up to those expectations.

Because in this world, he was utterly hopeless in a fight.

He was, without question, a complete weakling.