On the way back to the apartment, the nanny car moved forward in silence.

The late night when the snowflakes stopped falling, the lights, pedestrians, and the shadows of sporadic fireworks failed to leave traces in Mai Shiraishi's pupils.

The car stopped in front of the signal light, and the road ahead was divided into two pieces by the rails, and a muffled thunder sound was approaching.

With the red floating light of the signal light, Mai Shiraishi took out her phone from her bag, found a name, moved her finger, and slowly knocked out a line of text.

"Sorry, I may not be able to give you a gift."

It seemed as if she was checking for a grammar error, she stared at it for a few seconds before closing her eyes and pressing the send button.

Then, leaning on the muscle memory of the finger, I chose to delete this line of text and that name.

The train passed by, and the loud roar covered someone's sob.

At the next day's handshake meeting, Mai Shiraishi was absent due to occasional cold.

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