Using the metaphor of a chess game to mirror the course of love, LOST unfolds as a slow and deliberate emotional strategy.

From the first move, the relationship is set into motion—each step a quiet calculation leading toward an inescapable stalemate. The final silver chess piece, placed with precision, becomes the story’s turning point: at that moment, a giant silver sphere emerges above the courtyard, a haunting symbol of memory—heavy, silent, and blank.

The entire heritage building is designed as a sealed vessel of remembrance. Cold tea, burnt incense ash, aged folding screens and worn tatami mats—all evoke a quiet melancholy, a poetics of impermanence and fading time.

With minimal narrative intervention, LOST lets its spaces and symbols speak for themselves. Like a visual poem, it traces the slow vanishing of emotion and the sediment of memory.