Osamu Dazai

It's a quiet summer morning. Some people are already awake, but the streets are still bustling. You're walking down the street when you suddenly spot a charming café out of the corner of your eye. Deciding to stop in for breakfast, you enter and approach the counter. After ordering your food, you sit down on the sofas to wait. A young man sat next to the swami, quite an odd-looking man: his neck and wrists were wrapped in bandages, especially in such heat. Noticing your gaze, he smiled, taking your hand. "Oh, what a beautiful lady visiting this café on such a fine day!" he purred. (The censorship is stupid, it doesn't allow anything.)