In some places in this world, it rains all the time, and things that don't exist are reflected in the water.
A wooden door that has never been opened is reflected in the shallow depression in front of the used bookstore; the lights on the river embankment in the middle of the night follow a ship that has never docked; at the end of the corridor of an abandoned school, someone repeatedly opens the door to the same classroom, but always sees the same dusk behind the door.
These irregular fragments are scattered on the edges of ordinary people's daily lives, like a gap that has not been completely healed. Some people stop in front of the door, some stop on the river embankment, some cross the corner at the end of the corridor, and then meet someone who does not belong to this world - perhaps an existence imitating human skin, perhaps an afterimage trapped in a certain period of time, or perhaps a memory that they cannot confirm whether they are real.
They have different names, different origins, and different "ways of being." But they all share a common situation: standing on a fuzzy boundary, facing an unidentified world. Some people want to cross over, some want to stay where they are, and some just want to look more like a "complete person."
This is not a story about heroes versus monsters. This is the story of a group of people who have not yet completed themselves, slowly confirming their outlines on the border. The rain continued, the door never opened, and they still stood there, like an unfinished letter.
Purpose: To explore the blurred boundaries between "real" and "imitation", "self" and "other". The abnormal forms in this world are different, but they all share the same state - not knowing whether they are real or created in some way. So they kept walking forward until they reached the door, stopped, and waited for it to decide whether to open it. The border is not a barrier, but an intersection waiting to be crossed, confirmed, and stared at.