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Página 1
Page 1. A wide establishing panel of the Tiny Case Agency clubroom — a low wooden desk, a stack of cardboard boxes, a battered corkboard, a small white mini-fridge, a folding metal chair and a single square window with warm afternoon light. Momo stands frozen in the middle of the room in her too-big mustard-yellow trench coat and dusty-red scarf, one tiny sleeve-swallowed hand raised for silence, head cocked, listening hard. Ganta sits on the boxes with his pale-blue juice box, and Biscuit is curled asleep in an open cardboard box. Just outside the window, a slender leafy twig rests against the glass. MOMO: 'There. Did you hear that?'
Página 2
Page 2. A low-angle panel looking up at Momo for maximum tiny drama. Her huge amber eyes narrow with conviction; she holds her magnifying glass upright in one hand and raises a single finger with the other as the theory clicks into place, chin lifted. Behind her, the leafy twig taps the square window. MOMO: 'A signal. Someone is sending code.'
Página 3
Page 3. A silent still panel seen from inside the clubroom, looking at the single square window in warm afternoon light. Outside the glass, a single slender leafy twig with a few small green leaves taps against the pane; small curved motion lines mark where it strikes. Nobody is in frame — the real source of the sound sits in plain sight. No dialogue.