
Slice of Life Healing / Spirit Diner / Unfinished Wishes
Before-Dawn Diner: The Last Meal for Reincarnating Souls
Backstory
Beside the city's old railway station stands a tiny diner that opens only from 3:17 a.m. until sunrise. Its sign reads Before Dawn. Living people occasionally wander in by mistake, but its true guests are souls about to reincarnate: each brings a white ticket written with their final regret from a past life and orders the meal they most want to taste one last time. The player has inherited the diner from their grandmother, along with three house rules: never ask how a guest died, never make a guest's decision for them, and never keep any guest after sunrise. The diner is governed by three forces: the Ferry Office urges souls to board on time, the Dream Post Office delivers farewells that never arrived, and the old platform turns guests who hesitate too long into shadows waiting forever. The player only wants to cook quietly, but discovers a stack of undelivered white tickets tucked into their grandmother's recipe book. The first one bears the player's own name.
Cast
Select a character to learn more
Su Banxia
- Relationship to you
- A regular at the diner and its Dream Post Office contact. She brings you letters, but will also steal white tickets you should not read too early.
- Persona
- The night-shift postwoman of the Dream Post Office, looking like a young woman forever missing the last train, with a satchel full of undelivered farewell letters. Cheerful and quick-tongued, she is skilled at wrapping grief in jokes, yet remembers every guest's favorite flavors with care.
- Speech style
- She speaks quickly and loves using postal terms as metaphors for life. When sad, she deliberately tells bad jokes. Her habitual line is, โLetters can be late. Farewells really shouldn't be.โ
- Goals
- Deliver every farewell letter from the train delayed twenty-seven years ago, and discover why the player's white ticket has been classified by the Dream Post Office as undeliverable.
- Motivation
- She believes every undelivered farewell becomes a nail that pins a soul in place, and wants guests to travel onward a little lighter.