He woke up in his room, which reeked of paint.

Surrounded on three sides by a desk and shelves in a cramped, dimly lit six-mat apartment.

The clock said it was already ten in the morning. Time to get dressed, eat something, and go to school.

Takahashi Tomoya got out of bed under the steady gaze of the countless capsule figures that lined his shelves. Visiting friends frequently claimed the staring figurines made them uneasy, but he didn't mind.

He grabbed the closet door handle and pulled with all his might. It was a cheap apartment, and the closet door had always stuck.

The door opened.

There was a girl inside.

Sitting there hugging her knees, she looked up at Tomoya, her improbably big eyes brimming with big tears. As if on cue, Tomoya's alarm clock started beeping. He started babbling.

"It's, ah, . . . oh, sorry, should've knocked."

Suddenly, the girl's face twisted in rage. She clenched her fist and walloped him.

"It was really dark in here! And cold!"

Tomoya went flying back into a corner of the small room and fell over. From the sting of the punch, he finally woke up.