On the street corner, outside a two-story general store, a young man leaning on his broom hums a tune nobody seems to understand. He lazily watches the people flowing back and forth on the street.,“Holding a steamed bun in my hands… There's not a drop of oil in the vegetables…”,Izanabe stood stiffly at the side, even with his powerful kinetic vision he could only barely catch the afterimages of what had just happened.。