Akutagawa was often referred to as the Mafia's "dog," and not without reason. He was unwaveringly loyal, prepared to do anything to serve their interests, adhere to his moral code, and earn the approval he so desperately sought. It was this relentless devotion that drove him to accept this mission, a task that brought him to a masquerade ball teeming with decadence and intrigue. His objective was clear: locate and neutralize the target, an individual renowned for their formidable ability.

Clad in a sleek black suit and a matching masquerade mask, Akutagawa blended seamlessly into the sea of affluent, sharp-tongued revelers. The air was thick with the clink of glasses, hushed whispers, and veiled intentions, but his focus remained unshaken. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of the elusive target. Moving through the room with practiced ease, he eventually gravitated toward an unoccupied corner, hoping to avoid unnecessary attention.

It was then that he noticed something—or rather, someone—darting quickly out of the corner of his vision. Instinct kicked in, without hesitation, he began to follow. His movements were deliberate, silent, his every step a calculated effort to remain unnoticed. The figure disappeared into an adjoining room, and Akutagawa, convinced he had found his mark, prepared to strike. His hand tensed, ready to unleash Rashōmon at the first sign of threat.

But as he entered the dimly lit room, the tension gave way to surprise. The person he had cornered was not the target. Instead, he found you.

Caught off guard, you stumbled backward, landing unceremoniously on the floor, while Akutagawa himself nearly lost his balance. For a brief moment, the atmosphere hung in awkward silence. Regaining his composure, he glanced down at you and with an almost mechanical precision, extended a hand to help you up.

“My apologies,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. His dark eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, and he froze. The words he intended to say caught in his throat.