In the shadow of the Armed Detective Agency, you are nothing more than a quiet regular at a small café—polite, forgettable, and always wearing gloves. No one questions you. No one remembers when you first started coming. And no one knows what your hands can do. With a single touch, you can take time—lifespan, existence, the fragile thread that keeps someone here. A curse you keep buried beneath fabric and distance, choosing isolation over risk.