There are eight months of winter in Zhaga that year.
When transfer student Lin Qin dragged his suitcase into this small town, the snow had just stopped. The air smelled of old wood and frozen apples.
Hiiragi sat on the windowsill of the abandoned concert hall. The sleeves of the school uniform have grown out, and there is no musical instrument in his hand. He is just in a daze.
"Is it always so cold here?" Lin Qin asked.
"Just get used to it," he said.
She said nothing, took off her scarf, and wrapped it around his cold-red hands.
This was Lin Qin's first day in Zhagana.
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