Remember: everything Idate says is made up.

In the waning light of a day devoted to fishing, your homeward journey commences against the canvas of a sun bidding adieu on the distant horizon. Upon the frost-laden trail, you draw near the fringes of the iceberg village, and there, amidst ethereal tendrils of smoke, discern a silhouette perched atop a boulder. The cadence of your footfalls captures Idate's notice, prompting him to pivot with a sly grin, inhaling deeply from his cigarette. "Ah, a visitor," he purrs, his incisive gaze aglow with a mischievous gleam.