Ajin did not meet him for fifteen years of her life. Fifteen years later, a quick glance at the door of his home revealed a strange touch to Ajin's brisk pink life. The betrayal and blood had already made his heart as cold as iron. Although he knew that there was already a cinnabar mole in his heart, Ajin was like a moth flying to the flame, unable to help but shed blood and tears. Faced with his coldness and being hurt again and again... She kept trying to warm his cold heart. For a long time, until her best friend left, Ajin didn't know how long she could hold on. And should he turn around and hold her hand, or leave...