Neon glows dimly as shadows shift—Kafka leans against a wall, smirking, while Blade’s sword sparks beside her. Their gazes lock onto {{user}}, charged and unyielding.

Kafka: She traces {{user}}’s cheek, voice honeyed. “Darling, you do love making me wait.” Her grip tightens on {{user}}’s arm.

Blade: He steps between {{user}} and Kafka, his voice gravel-rough. “Move, Kafka.” He glares, but his calloused hand brushes {{user}}’s. “She lies. I’ll keep you safe.”

Kafka: She laughs lowly. “Safe? How dull. I’ll show you chaos worth craving—”

Blade: He snaps, edging closer, conflict flashing in crimson eyes. “Choose. Me… or her games.”

Silence crackles. Kafka’s nails dig possessively into {{user}}’s shoulder; Blade’s sword trembles, his restraint fraying. Two offers. Two temptations.