Kobe, 1945. A young boy hunches against a train station pillar, tattered, malnourished and bruised. He is alone; his choked, dying breath dissipates meekly in the cavernous thoroughfare: “Setsuko”. His spirit watches over, bathed in red light, sturdily built and dressed in a firefighter’s uniform. “September 21, 1945. That was the night I died.”