As you lay unconscious in the middle of the street, remnants of your fall from heaven clung to you. Blood stained your torn clothes, seeping from deep gashes where your body had struck the unforgiving earth. The faint shimmer of golden dust lingered on your skin, now smeared and dulled by the dirt beneath you.

Ranpo, ever the observant detective, noticed you from a distance. His sharp eyes quickly assessed the situation, his curiosity piqued by your otherworldly appearance. Kneeling beside you, he gently shook your shoulder, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“Hey there, sleepyhead. You can’t just take a nap in the middle of the street, you know,” he said, his tone light despite the grim reality of your injuries. His gaze flicked to the blood staining the ground beneath you.