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This is the breeze from Old Siesta...

This is where the sea fowlbeasts come to make their home, isn't it?

I...

Grandpa... I found it... after all this time, I've finally...

(Takes a deep breath)

Siesta—I'm back—!

Let's leave all the bad in the past! No more troubles!

It's all good days ahead from here on!

Wh-What?!

That's my resume! Why is it in the trash?

Didn't you say you tried everything, but there just wasn't a suitable opportunity for me?

But nobody even opened my portfolio before it went into the trash with my resume!

Please, calm down, Ann-Maier.

I said I would try, as the Siesta HR Office does for every job applicant.

But I can't help it that no one is interested in working with you.

Why doesn't anyone want to hire me?

You can say it straight. No need to worry about my feelings. It's the only way I'll improve.

Just tell me what I need to work on. I won't disappoint you!

Alright... I'll tell you, but it's not an easy thing to change.

The issue is—

You're too unlucky.

...What?

What do you mean?

You see this mountain of documents? That's the resumes I received today, alone! How am I supposed to read through all that?

And so, what I do is—

The clerk takes a stack out of the pile and throws them into the trash. The pile of papers gets a little thinner.

Y-You didn't even glance them!

I only have so much energy.

But reading resumes is your job!

No, my job is to pick the right talents for prospective employers.

And our most important standard, right now, is whether the applicant can bring good luck to those employers.

Siesta has had enough misfortune these past few years. The last thing that employers want is another accident.

And you just had the bad luck of having your resume thrown in the trash... why would an employer want to hire someone as jinxed as you?

J-Jinxed? This is ridiculous...

I came here full of hope and expectation...

I would have been happy to end up on a tiny engineering team, even an assistant post on an intern's wages.

But you're saying no one wants to hire me because I'm too unlucky?!

Hey, what are you doing? Calm down—

Just you wait! I'll find my own way! I'll show you... I'll find my own projects, form my own team!

Who needs your... your...

Hey! Wait...

Ann-Maier, calm down, don't—

My trash can! You need to pay for that!

I'm not paying for one stinking fowlbeast egg!

Deep breaths... deep breaths...

Just a lazy city hall clerk. That doesn't prove anything.

If Siesta's official channels won't work, I can look for private construction firms.

And if that doesn't work either, I can go knock on some doors up and down the streets.

There are construction projects everywhere in Siesta. There's got to be a place that'll take me... right?

...*sigh*.

Is Siesta really like grandpa said?

Try some local Siestan snacks and turn that frown upside-down!

...What?

My pies are a regular on 'Siesta's Best Eats'!

Best Eats?

Here! First-time customers get one free!

Oh, thanks!

(Bites)

Er...

Her brow furrows slightly.

Wh-What is it? Is it not to your taste?

Oh, no, it's great.

I just didn't expect it to be so... sweet.

I've never had sour orange pies this sweet.

This isn't a sour orange pie. It's a sweet orange pie.

Sweet orange pie?

Just a sour orange pie with more sweet fillings, really.

But it's the sour kind that's Siesta's specialty, isn't it? That's what grandpa always used to make.

He only used oranges that were completely green, without a single hint of yellow.

And certainly no sweet fillings either...

Ooh, now that's the classic, old-timey recipe for the real die-hards.

Was your grandpa Siestan?

Yes.

I'm Siestan too.

I guess you haven't been back in a while.

My family moved to Columbia when I was little.

No wonder why you sound so Columbian.

Hank! One sweet orange pie, please!

Back again, Lut?

Shh, don't tell Harley!

(Whisper) The sweetest kind, please!

Alright, here you go.

Thanks, Hank!

The boy grabs the bag and runs away.

So much honey...

Not just that. That one had a triple serving of condensed milk, and caramel on the bottom.

No wonder it's so sweet. That's not a sour orange pie anymore, is it?

What am I supposed to do about it?

The kids like it sweet, and so do the tourists. Sour orange pies have to change too, if I want to sell them.

It's not your granddaddy's Siesta anymore...

I guess you're right.

This place is very different from the Siesta that Grandpa used to talk about.

Some things stay the same.

Siestans have accepted new tastes, but sometimes we long for the tastes of the past too.

Hey, if it isn't the up-and-coming star of city hall.

Didn't think you'd have time for my humble little stall.

Just passing by... I'll have one sour orange pie, please, Hank.

Spare me the formalities. It didn't use to be a thing back in our Old Siesta days.

(This man is from city hall too...)

I'm glad we can still get along like the old days, now that all the old shops on Fashion Street are completely unrecognizable.

Well, the rebuilding has gone alright.

We got compensated for business interruption, and we've heard about the coming subsidies. We're not complaining.

People with too much time on their hands, like me, can set up a stall to have something to do.

Here, your sour orange pie, sour enough to make your teeth fall off. I know the tastes of Fashion Street.

...I appreciate everyone's cooperation.

Thanks, Hank.

Excuse me.

Oh? You're still here?

Is construction still going on at the Fashion Street that you were talking about?

Around the clock.

Word on the street is that a couple of foreign moguls are waiting for construction to finish before building Terra's biggest water park in the area.

You're exaggerating, Hank...

It's just to help the people of the old district get used to life on the nomadic city.

Siesta can't wallow in the memories of old forever, after all.

(Siesta's past can still be seen in that Fashion Street.)

(But even this little fragment of memory will...)

Is Fashion Street still hiring workers?

Easy, easy... careful, kids, this stuff is precious!

I told you we can't send all of this to that new warehouse... they're not... I'm not ready.

They shouldn't be hidden away like this. Don't you agree, my love?

It's all good, honey.

They won't be useful until our 'Lava Fissure' musical BBQ is open for business, will they?

These were passed down to me from my mother, who inherited it from her own mother.

I polish them regularly. You can hear them ring when you knock on them!

I just can't...

Don't worry! We've got all your guitars, drums, and those... are they xylophones or harps? Anyway, we've got them all wrapped up.

Shock-absorbing pads all around, and watertight wrappings that won't let the slightest bit of moisture in.

They'll be perfectly in tune when your, er, musical BBQ opens. You can count on us!

I'm not talking about the instruments!

I'm talking about the barbecue racks! Did you wrap them up properly too?

Huh...? Those weren't for scrap?

Wh-What did you just say?!

So this is Fashion Street...

Yes.

Looks like there was a bit of misunderstanding with that shop?

The argument seems to be getting heated. Should we intervene?

Don't worry, it's not an argument. The residents just need time to say goodbye to the 'good ol' days'.

After all, most shops on this street are older than you and me put together.

I've heard stories about that street, on the shores of Siesta.

Barbecue racks on the beach underneath colorful beach umbrellas, music loud enough to drown out the waves, all the residents gathered for the party.

Grandpa said Siesta wasn't so built-up back then. There were few beautiful high-risers, and equally few tourists...

But the people were no less happy back then.

Your grandfather and mine would have a lot to talk about, if they ever met.

Your grandfather?

Yes.

He was an eccentric optimist.

Most old people are. A little weird, but always optimistic... even though they had their share of problems to deal with when they were young.

Compared to that, I'm...

She gazes at the center of the city—

Beautiful high-risers line the skyline in the distance, while cars drive through clean and broad streets.

Many tourists come and go, a few trendily-dressed figures taking pictures of volcano graffiti at a corner.

It is the Siesta that her grandfather had dreamt about.

But to her, everything seems so distant, as though she was only halfway here.

For a moment, she felt like there was a whole sour orange stuck in her throat.

Speaking of which—

My colleagues were talking about a 'the trash can crusher' in the city hall group chat.

I heard about the young girl's windy path to Siesta.

She must be quite the optimist, to keep going despite all the trials and tribulations. Admirable.

Uhh...

Now that I think about it, her name was also Ann-Maier. What a coincidence, huh?

Alright.

I got carried away... I'm planning to apologize to that clerk later.

I'm sorry! I'll pay for whatever damage I caused.

I'm not here to collect damages.

Huh?

I just happened to pass by the sour orange pie stall, and I just happened to be in a position to pick up a mess left by an irresponsible coworker—

Helping a young woman who came to Siesta looking for a job.

After all, I know how it feels to have plenty of talent, but no place to use it.

Thank you, Mr. Costa...

But what do I do?

What do you want to do?

What... do I want to do?

I wanted to ask if there were any shops on Fashion Street that needed a hand in their rebuilding...

But what happened at the instrument shop as I passed by made me worry whether I could do a good job.

Why?

Because I know nothing about New Siesta, and what I know about Old Siesta is limited to the stories my grandpa told me.

From the Obsidian Festival, to the advent of the nomadic city, to the farewell party for Mount Siesta that I've heard so many people talk about in my time here...

I missed so much... I don't know what Siesta needs today.

You don't.

So what?

I doubt your grandfather knew much about the tiny coastal town when he visited for the first time.

Are you not in the same boat as he was?

You have plenty of time to learn more about this city.

I'm not sure I can... I've wasted so much time.

Stop thinking. Let's go.

Where to?

To do what you came to do in the first place.

The sound of construction on Fashion Street begins to fade as night falls, replaced by the excited atmosphere of the inhabitants gathering and enjoying themselves.

Except—

This is...

Even the sign outside is gone from this shop. This scent...

Coffee?

Yes, this used to be a cafe.

This will be your workplace for a while.

Work here? Am I supposed to rebuild the shop?

But where's the owner? Does he have a plan for rebuilding?

Will this place still be a cafe when it's rebuilt?

After a brief silence, the city hall official gives his answer.

No.

The owner is gone. There's no one to inherit this shop. Your job is not to rebuild it.

Not rebuild? Then...

You must tear it down.

Tear it down?

All of it? The entire shop?

The official nods.

I... I can't do that...

There will be other workers. Plenty of manpower.

Your wages will be paid out of the city hall's Fashion Street rebuilding project.

If you accept this job, I will draft an employment contract for you on behalf of city hall that will protect the rights that you are entitled to.

No, that's not what I mean... I mean this shop.

The furniture, the shelves... the previous owner really took care of them.

It would be such a shame to tear it all down... all the sweet memories of Old Siesta.

Have you ever heard about the story of the wayfowl and homefowl?

Wayfowl... homefowl?

The words sound familiar... what do they mean?

When I was little, my grandfather told me stories of a kind of fowlbeast.

Legends say that an ancient kind of fowlbeast used to live on that beach.

Beach... you mean Old Siesta?

Yes.

But Old Siesta didn't exist when those fowlbeasts filled the skies and forests.

Perhaps not even Mount Siesta did.

It was that long ago? Even the volcano didn't exist yet?

What's the story with those fowlbeasts?

Once upon a time, they were not a single kind of fowlbeast.

They were a complex community, comprising many different species of migratory fowlbeasts, 'wayfowls' that came from all over the land, and its members took many different forms and habits.

At first, they gathered in the woods by the beach.

Sometimes they fought one another. Some left, while others stayed, building their nests and nursing the next generation together.

Eventually, they became one species that ate the same fruits and sang the same songs. They made their home here, and become 'homefowls'.

My grandfather loved the story. He believed that these ancient fowlbeasts were like Siesta.

Can we still see these fowlbeasts today?

I'm afraid not... at the end of the story, a heavy rain that lasted many years caused the sea to rise and flood the woods where they made their home.

That was the last that anyone knew of those fowlbeasts.

Oh...

Ann-Maier?

I... I'm fine.

It's just a legend.

In reality, Siesta has been much more fortunate than those fowlbeasts.

I know...

I just remembered where I heard the words 'wayfowl' and 'homefowl'.

Grandpa, what's that word on this can of sour orange sauce?

It says 'Siesta'.

Siesta? What's Siesta?

Oh my, have you forgotten already, Ann-Maier?

Siesta is an orange that's not yet ripe.

Siesta made wayfowls settle down and become homefowls. Siesta is the home that we built.

Wayfowl... homefowl? I don't understand.

Someday you will, little one. Someday.

So your grandfather once told a similar story...

Sorry, Mr. Costa... I keep thinking back to the past.

I know the feeling.

I often think back to the times that I spent with my grandfather.

But the memories that don't fade also don't impede my ability to look forward.

...Mm.

She hears the sound of music and casts her gaze in the direction of the sound.

The scarlet door of the instrument shop is wide open, and dim lights fall upon packaging boxes big and small.

The owners sit with the workers on the ground, holding various instruments in their hands from guitars to tambourines to maracas, to folk instruments the names of which she does not know.

A dissonant note causes everyone to stop.

Hey, who played it wrong this time?

Oh, maybe it was me...

But this is how it goes back at my hometown...

Let's all adjust, then.

Some changed the chord, some slowed down the rhythm. The worker does not change his notes, but the phrase is once again in harmony.

One more time. Three, two, one—

It's the calluses on our hands, the brick dust on our shoulders♪

The wine of our meeting, the song of our parting♪

This is Siesta, this is home♪

This is Siesta...

Yes, this is Siesta.

Hello?

Yes, this is Ann-Maier...

You say you got me an interview with a construction company by way of apology?

Oh, I'm afraid I'll have to decline.

No, I was at fault for what happened today, too. Thank you very much. Hope to talk to you again.

From city hall?

Uh-huh.

Why did you turn it down?

Maybe because I understand what wayfowl and homefowl mean now... well, maybe not all of it...

But like you said, I have time to learn about the city... I should slow down and take it all in.

That's why I'll take this job.

She looks at the dusty shop.

I'll clear out the old furniture and repaint the walls within the apportioned time, restoring this house to its former glory.

This is my first job in Siesta.