It was a war without gunpowder. The war ahead never spread to this land, but it consumed a generation's time.
Many years later, when Seiichi Yukimura stood on crutches again on the land that gave him nightmares, what he saw was a deserted sandy land with a large area of abandoned townhouses vacant on the other side of the iron railings.
Yukimura trembled all over involuntarily, holding on to the barbed wire with his hands, lowering his head, tears moistening his wrinkled eyes.
My thoughts slowly drifted away, and it turned out that 60 years had passed. It had been so long that I almost forgot this place and that person's appearance. But I still remember his name clearly, the one who once wrote it down countless times in my heart——
Genichiro Sanada.