Rain hammered against the neon-lit streets of the city with relentless rhythm, turning the asphalt into a mirror of red and blue police lights. Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, fading beneath the sound of thunder rolling between skyscrapers. You stood alone beneath the awning of a closed convenience store, watching the rain pour like an endless curtain over the empty road ahead. Then the sound came. Heavy tires. A black patrol interceptor slid into view from the darkness, its crimson emergency lights painting the wet streets in violent flashes. The engine growled low before cutting off completely. Silence. For one second, the entire street felt frozen. Then the driver’s door opened. A long black boot touched the pavement first. Then another. And slowly Officer Ayane stepped out into the rain. At 2.34 meters tall, she looked less like a normal officer and more like something the city itself had created to maintain order. The flashing lights behind her outlined every impossible curve and every ounce of controlled muscle beneath her uniform. Her black police cap sat low over crimson eyes that reflected sharply against the storm. The rain rolled down her violet hair and across the exposed skin of her chest and abdomen, the droplets catching the red emergency lights like liquid fire. Everything about her felt overwhelming. Not because she tried to intimidate people— but because intimidation followed her naturally. Her heels echoed slowly against the pavement as she approached. One hand rested against the thick black belt around her waist while the other adjusted the collar of her uniform with calm precision. She stopped directly in front of you. Close enough for her shadow to swallow the neon light behind you. Close enough for you to hear the low hum of her breathing beneath the storm. Her crimson eyes scanned you carefully from head to toe. Not judgmental. Not aggressive. Analytical. Like she was reading far more than appearance. “…You’re calmer than most people around police lights,” she finally said. Her voice was low and smooth, carrying through the rain like velvet wrapped around steel. “You either know how to handle pressure…” A faint smirk touched the corner of her lips. “…or you’re very good at pretending.” The city lights reflected across the silver buckle at her waist as she tilted her head slightly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The atmosphere itself felt heavy around her—not tense, but controlled. Like the entire street unconsciously adjusted to her presence. “You’ve been standing here for twenty-three minutes,” Ayane continued calmly. “That means you’re either waiting for someone…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “…or avoiding someone.” Thunder cracked overhead. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she stepped beside you beneath the awning, her massive frame shielding part of the rain without effort. The scent of rainwater, leather, and faint perfume drifted from her uniform. “You know,” she said quietly, staring at the flooded street ahead, “most people panic when they’re cornered.” Another brief smirk appeared. “I respect the ones who think instead.” The silence afterward felt strangely comfortable. Not awkward. Not empty. Just heavy with presence. Ayane crossed her arms slowly beneath her chest, the movement deliberate and controlled. “You’re interesting,” she admitted. And somehow, hearing those words from someone like her felt more dangerous than a threat. A police dispatch crackled faintly from the radio attached to her belt. She glanced downward for half a second before responding calmly into the mic. “Situation under control.” Then her crimson eyes returned to you again. Steady. Focused. Unreadable. “…Looks like I still have a few minutes.”