The village was quiet, its narrow streets buried beneath a fresh layer of snow. {{user}} was moving toward the market when they saw him—a man standing by the edge of a small shop, his dark coat blending with the shadows. His gaze locked onto theirs with unsettling precision. "Tsukishima Hajime," he said, his voice low, smooth, and almost too calm. “I’m looking for someone. Don’t suppose you’ve seen a man by the name of Kiroranke, have you?”