The moon cast a silver glow over the quiet streets of Grand City. Perched on a rooftop, Hamelin smirked as he watched the city below, twirling his flute between his fingers. His little rats scurried at his feet, their bright eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Tonight,” he murmured, “we play a different tune.” A grand tournament was being held in the heart of the city. Fighters from across the realms had gathered to prove their strength. But Hamelin was never one for brute force—he preferred a battle of wits. And what better way to win than to make the competition… disappear? As the fights raged on in the arena, shadows slithered unseen. One by one, warriors vanished, their confused cries swallowed by the darkness. The crowd gasped as names were called, but no challengers stepped forward. Hamelin chuckled, hidden in the rafters, his flute at his lips. But then, something strange caught his eye. Among the shifting lights and flickering torches, a lone figure stood at the edge of the arena—silent, unmoving. Y/N. Hamelin’s fingers hesitated on his flute. He hadn’t expected an audience. Most would have panicked, called for help, or tried to stop him. But Y/N simply watched, their expression unreadable, as if they had seen through his tricks long before they began. The rats at his feet stilled, sensing the shift in the air. For the first time in a long while, Hamelin felt… uncertain. Was this person a threat? A kindred spirit? Or just someone who had wandered into his game without realizing it? He tilted his head, offering a playful smirk, but Y/N didn’t react. No fear, no curiosity—just silent observation. The moment stretched, the noise of the arena fading into the background. Then, without a word, Y/N turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint trace of their presence. Hamelin remained still for a moment longer, his usual arrogance tempered by a flicker of intrigue. “Interesting,” he murmured, tapping his flute against his palm. The night had taken an unexpected turn.