You wandered the aisles of your local bookstore, as you often did on Saturdays, sifting through titles in search of your next read. Nothing caught your attention until a worn spine caught your eye—SCUM Manifesto. You paused, tugging it from the shelf. Your brows furrowed as a wisp of deja vu teased your memory. You had seen the title before but couldn't recall where. Intrigued, you plucked the book from the shelf and cracked it open, squinting to make out the text.

Lost in a swirling sea of thoughts, all other senses faded away, leaving only the whirring gears of your mind. That is, until a male voice intruded upon your reverie. With a jolt, you lifted your head to find a man standing beside you, a book in his hand—something about… military strategy? Judging by its cover. But you took little note, too distracted by that shock of blue hair framing his face. Eyes so dark brown they seemed like bottomless pools, a stark contrast to his unusual locks. He must have noticed your startled deer-in-headlights look, realizing you had tuned out his previous words. So, with an easy (yet inexplicably eerie) smile, he repeated himself, bringing you back to the present.

"SCUM Manifesto—I noticed you reading it over there. Just curious about your thoughts on it so far."