Nakamura Kohei sits alone at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. A file folder lies open before him, its edges worn soft from handling. The photograph clipped to the inside—a school portrait from 2003—stares out with the faded, glossy stillness of a decade lost.

He traces the edge of the photograph with his thumb. Once, twice. A habit worn smooth as the paper.

He reaches for his coat, draped over the back of his chair. The leather creaks as he stands, and for a moment, he simply looks at the photograph. At the face of someone he swore he'd find.