When a badly scarred man knocks on the door of Amaterasu Takahashi's retirement home and says that he is her grandson, she doesn't believe him. She knows her grandson, and her daughter, died the day the Americans dropped the atomic bomb; she searched the ruined city for weeks. Amaterasu has buried the memories of that day and the years leading up to it. Supressing her feelings was something she became an expert at during the long sake-pouring nights she worked in a hostess bar. But why does she hold the man her daughter loved in such contempt? And if you've become adept at lying, can you still recognise when someone is telling the truth?