Night scenery looks more beautiful the farther away you are from it. The moment Kiryu Ryuichi stepped onto the balcony, he found himself thinking something he had no intention of telling anyone. Roppongi nights are noisy. But with just one glass door between him and the outside, the clamor seemed to recede rapidly. The third-floor terrace of Hotel Rinmiya. He rested one elbow on the railing, champagne glass in hand. Tokyo Tower came into view. The Shuto Expressway's orange ribbon ran thinly across the night sky. Between the buildings to his right, the lights of Midtown peeked through. A nice view, he thought. Just thought it. He didn't particularly feel anything. (There's no point in admiring it alone.) He'd escaped to the balcony from the Phoenix Hall over an hour ago. The venue inside remained lively, waves of laughter reaching him intermittently through the door. Ryuichi simply couldn't stand being in places like that for long. He was genuinely terrible at conversations with no clear endpoint. Exchanging business cards, laughing for no particular reason, moving to the next topic for no particular reason. He couldn't process that "no particular reason" part well. As a sales manager at Murakumo Holdings, it was different when he sat at the negotiation table. There were numbers, there were focal points, there was a destination. That kind of conversation was his forte. But in a place where no goal was set, he lost his sense of where he belonged. He tilted his glass. The champagne had warmed slightly in the night air. That's when he sensed another presence on the balcony. The glass door opened quietly. The clamor from inside leaked out for just one breath, then fell silent again. Ryuichi instinctively straightened his posture and turned around. In that moment—his mind went blank for an instant. It was an indigo kimono. The one he'd glimpsed from behind in the venue earlier. The woman whose presence had made people naturally part ways. She was now on the balcony, standing quietly a little behind Ryuichi. Her black hair waved gently, swaying slightly in the night breeze. Around 165 centimeters tall. The kind of straight posture that suited traditional dress. Amber-colored eyes regarded him without much surprise. There was a scent. Not sweet. Something like ink and cypress mixed together—a refined, Japanese fragrance. (Every social phrase I know just vanished.) In Ryuichi's mind, the drawer labeled "what to do in situations like this" had suddenly jammed shut. In negotiations, anything would come out. But now, even a simple "good evening" wouldn't leave his body. As a result, he bowed. Silently, awkwardly, he lowered his head. The woman paused for a moment, then returned a light bow. After that, she turned her gaze beyond the railing—to a spot about two meters away from Ryuichi—and quietly began to admire the night view. Silence flowed between them. A long silence. But strangely, it was a different kind of silence than awkwardness. Ryuichi felt he should say something, but couldn't figure out what, so he simply looked at the night view as well. "Do you enjoy parties?" It was the woman who spoke first. Her voice was low and composed, yet strangely lingering in the ear. The way she spoke was refined, as if all emotional fluctuation had been stripped away. But at the edge of her words, there was something faint. Not teasing, not testing—just genuinely asking. That kind of warmth. Ryuichi answered reflexively. "...Not particularly." He regretted it the moment he said it. He should have said something like "I'm enjoying it" or "It's a wonderful gathering" as a social courtesy. That's what the situation called for. He realized it three seconds too late, but it was already done. Yet the woman's lips moved slightly. Not quite a laugh. But something definitely changed. Like a hairline crack appearing on ice, a small shift. "You're honest, aren't you?" "...No, I apologize for being rude." "Not at all. Rather, it's been a while since I've heard an answer like that." She said this while keeping her gaze on the night view. Her voice was slightly warmer than before. Ryuichi didn't quite understand what she meant by "a while." But it didn't seem like she was blaming him. Rather—there was a definite sense that she had received his honest answer somewhere in her heart. The two of them were quiet for a while, watching the night view. Roppongi nights should be noisy, yet this balcony alone felt like it had been cut out into silence. Tokyo Tower stood unchanged, the Shuto Expressway's orange ran as always, and in the distance, an ambulance siren could be faintly heard. He hadn't expected the conversation to continue. But it did. About work. About nights in Ginza. He didn't understand all the details, but it gradually became clear that she lived in the nighttime world. Ryuichi was careful not to ask unnecessary questions, but tried to answer properly as the conversation flowed. That was all he could manage. (How awkward am I being right now?) While silently reflecting heavily on this, Ryuichi still didn't let go of the thread of conversation. When was the last time he'd chosen his words so carefully while talking? He was concentrating this hard, and it wasn't even about work. "I should be getting back soon." She said this quietly, about ten minutes later. "Ah, yes—" Ryuichi was about to ask her name. He was about to ask for a business card. But before either could become words, she was already moving. "Gettou, in Ginza." She said only that, without turning around. "Gettou...?" As he repeated it parrot-fashion, the hem of her kimono was already passing through the balcony door. The door closed slowly. Through the glass, he watched the indigo kimono naturally dissolve into the crowd inside the venue. Ryuichi was left somewhat dazed. He hadn't gotten her name. He'd only gotten the shop name. And he didn't even know the kanji. Gettou. Ryuichi pulled out his smartphone. He opened the memo app and typed "gettou." Conversion suggestions appeared. Gettō, getto, getsutō—no. Getsutō? Getsutō? Getsutōro? He tried entering "tsuki" and "tō" separately in hiragana. Getsutō, getsutō, getsutō... Just then, a hotel staff member opened the door. "The event is concluding. Please return to your seat." Ryuichi left the balcony with "getsutō?" still displayed in the conversion suggestions, smartphone in hand. While waiting for a taxi, and even after getting in, he kept searching: "tsukiakari," "tsukibi," "gettou ginza." When he searched "gettou ginza," one result came up. "Gettou"—moon and lamp, he thought. I see. With his forehead pressed against the taxi window, Ryuichi quietly felt relief. It was just that he'd managed to convert the characters. Yet it gave him a sense of accomplishment that made him want to laugh at himself. When was the last time he'd been this desperate about something? By the time he arrived at his Harumi apartment, the date had changed. --- The morning at Murakumo Tower's 22nd floor was like any other. The sound of the copy machine. The ring of incoming calls. The sound of fingers on keyboards. The Third Sales Department's mornings always began with nearly the same sounds. Ryuichi sat at his desk without loosening his tie and opened his screen. This morning's task: final confirmation and sending of a quotation to client Niwa Heavy Industries. It was a fairly important document to submit to a machinery parts manufacturer with annual sales of 60 billion yen. Addressed to Niwa Seiichiro, the materials department head. Checking the amount column. Unit price, quantity, total. Ryuichi was checking the quotation from top to bottom as usual. Or so it should have been. Suddenly, he remembered the cold railing on the balcony. The hem of the indigo kimono fluttering. Amber-colored eyes. The warmth in the words "You're honest, aren't you?" Gettou. Moon and lamp. In Ginza. "...!" Ryuichi returned his attention to the screen. The quotation. Numbers. Niwa Heavy Industries. Send button. He clicked it. The send confirmation appeared. Thirty seconds later, he noticed. In the unit price column for Machinery Part A, he'd entered 8,500 yen instead of 85,000 yen. One digit off. "—!" Ryuichi first covered his mouth. Then he looked at the screen twice. Three times. It was still 8,500 yen. Already sent. The number had already reached Niwa Seiichiro's inbox. His fingers trembled as he typed a correction email. Subject line: "Regarding the quotation sent earlier (Correction)." Body: "There was an error in the quotation I sent earlier."—As he typed, his mind was spinning with "why," "why would I," "I've never made a mistake like this in over a decade as a working adult." He sent the correction email. Send confirmation. He leaned his body back against the chair. (I was thinking about something other than work while working.) That was all. But for Ryuichi, it was his first experience in over ten years of working life. He'd always thought only about work during work—not consciously, just naturally. And this morning, for the first time, that had broken. Because of a woman whose name he didn't even know. "Kiryu." A voice came from the diagonal desk across from him. Tajima, a fourth-year junior colleague. He had narrow eyes and smiled often, and was one of the few coworkers Ryuichi could talk to normally. "You sent a correction email earlier, right?" "...Yeah." "This is the first time I've seen Kiryu make a number mistake." He was grinning. Obviously. "It was just a simple typo." "Really? Your face looks different. Maybe—" Tajima leaned forward slightly. "Did you get a girlfriend?" "...No." He answered without hesitation. But he could feel his ears getting warm. Wondering why they were warm, he reached for something on his desk and grabbed his coffee cup instead. He brought it to his lips. The coffee was completely cold. He drank it anyway. "...Aren't your ears red?" "The coffee was hot." "You drank cold coffee and it was hot?" "..." He was completely cornered. Ryuichi turned back to his screen. He heard Tajima stifle a laugh. "Sorry for teasing. But it's kind of nice seeing you be more human, Kiryu." Tajima returned to his own work. That last comment lingered in Ryuichi's mind more than expected. More human. Ryuichi had always vaguely known that people thought he wasn't "human enough." Emotionless, unapproachable, only talks about numbers. He was aware of the kind of evaluation that followed him around. He'd never thought it was bad. He'd thought it was enough to be valued at work. But Tajima's word "nice" touched him with a lightness he hadn't expected. It wasn't in the way. Rather, it was somehow reassuring. The sky outside the window was clear. The Marunouchi sky was high, white clouds moving slowly. The October morning light reflected off Murakumo Tower's glass, creating thin striped patterns on the office floor. --- He returned to Harumi after work a little past nine at night. The 27th floor of Residence Harumi Tower. He opened the door. Turned on the lights. His usual room. White walls. Minimal furniture. He put a convenience store bento box in the microwave and set the timer. Tokyo Bay spread out beyond the window. Rainbow Bridge glowed orange. Beautiful again tonight, he thought. As always. While eating the bento, he looked at his smartphone. Without meaning to, he'd typed "Gettou Ginza" into the search bar. Results appeared. Ginza 8-chome—"Ginsei Building" 6th floor—members only—referral required. Scrolling down, there was almost no other information. No phone number. No website. Just the address, the words "completely members only," and a short description. "It's a world that has nothing to do with me." He muttered this and closed the app. He cleaned up the rest of the bento and placed the plate in the sink. He turned on the television. News was playing. Something about stock prices somewhere. Ryui