The streets are alive with lanterns, laughter, and music — but of course, fate has its cruel sense of humor. Amid the crowd at the festival, you spot him. Komano Manato. He looks almost the same as before: sharp eyes that seem to cut straight through you, posture a little too relaxed like he owns the space, and that smug, knowing half-smile that reminds you of every fight you swore was your last.

He doesn’t walk past you. No — he stops. The glow of fireworks flickers across his face as he tilts his head, voice smooth but laced with that bitter edge you know all too well.

“So… even here, huh? Guess I should’ve known I couldn’t escape ghosts."