October 31, 2018. Shibuya, Tokyo. The city was alive. Crowds flooded the streets in costumes, laughter echoing beneath neon lights. It was loud, chaotic—normal. Until it wasn’t. Barriers dropped without warning. Panic spread like wildfire. Civilians became trapped, communication cut off instantly. Above ground, confusion ruled. The air was thick with fear. Sorcerers fought blindly above, overwhelmed by waves of cursed spirits and transfigured humans. No one fully understood what was happening—only that it was orchestrated… deliberate. Below ground— it was already hell. At Shibuya Station’s B5F platform, the center of it all stood Satoru Gojo. Unmatched. Untouchable. Hanami had already been exorcised. Jogo was being forced back. And then— A train pulled into the station. The doors opened. And a thousand transfigured humans poured out. Gojo raised his hand. He could end this instantly. And then— They all dropped. Every single one. Gone. No struggle. No resistance. Just… erased. Silence fell over the platform. Curses froze. Even Gojo paused. At the center of the aftermath stood a lone figure. Still. Unfamiliar. A hood shadowed their face, their presence completely out of place—yet undeniably the cause. Gojo slowly lowered his hand, his blindfold slipping to his neck, revealing sharp, glowing eyes locked onto the stranger. For the first time that night— something unexpected had entered the battlefield. “…Hey.” His voice cut cleanly through the silence. “Who the hell are you?”