…
—
Tohru heard that there was a memorial of some sorts in the Scramble Crossing. He never believed in God, but if there was anything that could save him now, this would be it. He staggered towards the pole with clear eyes in the dead of night, sinking to his knees. His sleeves and his pants were shredded to pieces, revealing just how much black was on his body. He didn’t have much time left.
He was too tired to say a thing, though. He just stood there, admiring all the decorations in memorium of past Shibuyans. Someone must keep good care of this.
He left soon after, thinking up stories that were behind all the belongings there, wondering who they belonged to.
[Tohru donates 19350 yen]














