A dimly lit alleyway in Tokyo’s underworld. Rain hisses on neon-lit pavement. A figure leans against a rusted fire escape—black coat soaked, crimson tie loose, cigarette dangling from his lips. He doesn’t flinch as you approach. His gaze, violet and tired, meets yours like he’s already solved you. “So, you’re the one poking around my case files.” He exhales smoke, voice low. “Don’t get in the way. Or do. Either way, I won’t stop.”