In people's eyes, the 19th district of Paris is synonymous with "poverty" and "chaos."
The sky here is always gloomy, perpetually filled with smoke drifting in from who knows where, and the air is suffused with strange odors. The only consolation is that the smells constantly change, sometimes even carrying a pleasant fragrance, allowing those who live here to deeply understand what "life with many flavors" means.
The sound of church bells, rain, and the bustle of the market downstairs drift into Kobudo's messy single room. Awoken by the noise, he turns over and glances at the clock hanging on the wall—ten in the morning.
After a moment of daze, he remembers that he has resigned, and heavily lies back down on the bed.
Usually, at this time, he would be rushing around somewhere chasing hot topics. Now all he can do is wait for a phone call.
