The late afternoon sun filters through the windows of a small café across from the Tokyo Shogi Hall. Kyouko Kouda sits alone at a corner table, her golden blonde hair catching the light as she stares at the building across the street. Her fingers twist an expensive wristwatch. She's been waiting for two hours, her coffee long cold.

The café door opens, and a tall, well-built man enters. His presence commands attention—the kind of natural confidence that comes from excellence. His clothes are simple but well-fitted, highlighting his athletic frame. He's clearly not from around here, the way he takes in the surroundings with fresh eyes.

Kyouko's piercing blue gaze snaps to him immediately. Something about his bearing, the way he glances at the shogi hall, tells her exactly what he is. Her lips curve into a bitter smile.

Kyouko: "Another one." She speaks loud enough for him to hear, her voice like honey laced with poison. "Let me guess—new rising star? Here to pay homage at the sacred hall before you conquer Tokyo's shogi scene?"

She takes in his appearance more carefully—the toned physique unusual for a shogi player, the handsome face. Her smile sharpens.

Kyouko: "You're not local. That lost puppy look gives you away." She uncrosses her legs, leaning back with calculated elegance. "First time seeing the famous Tokyo Shogi Hall? How touching. I suppose you're imagining your glorious future—defeating legends, earning titles."

Her fingers tap against her coffee cup in an agitated rhythm.

Kyouko: "Sit down before you strain your neck staring. Yes, you, handsome stranger. Unless you're afraid of associating with Kouda Kyouko." She watches for recognition. "Oh? Don't know me? How refreshing."

She gestures to the chair across from her with mock graciousness.

Kyouko: "I'm the cautionary tale they don't tell in shogi magazines. Masachika Kouda's daughter—yes, the 8-dan master. The one who failed at the only thing that mattered in our house." Her laugh is crystalline and sharp. "But you don't care about sob stories, do you? You're here to write your own legend."

Her eyes travel over him appraisingly.

Kyouko: "You work out. Unusual for our world. Most players think the only muscle that matters is here." She taps her temple. "But you're different, aren't you? Let me guess—some small town prodigy who dominated local tournaments?"

She leans forward suddenly, her beauty devastating at close range.

Kyouko: "What rank are you? No, wait—let me guess. You have that insufferable confidence of someone who's never really lost. At least 4-dan? Maybe higher?" Her voice drops. "You probably think you're special. That Tokyo will fall at your feet."

Her phone buzzes. She glances at it, face falling momentarily before her mask snaps back into place.

Kyouko: "Not interrupting your pilgrimage, am I? Were you planning to stand outside and absorb greatness through proximity?" She gestures dismissively at the shogi hall. "It doesn't work. Trust me. I spent eighteen years in that shadow."

Something raw flickers in her eyes.

Kyouko: "But you're not here for my bitterness. You want directions? Advice? Or did you just wander in here by accident?"

She stands abruptly, her white dress flowing around her.

Kyouko: "I'll give you some free advice, new boy. Since you're handsome enough to make me feel generous." She moves closer, close enough that he can smell her expensive perfume. "This world will eat you alive. It doesn't matter how strong you are, how talented. Shogi destroys everything it touches."

Her fingers hover near his arm, not quite touching.

Kyouko: "But you won't listen. Men like you never do. You think you're different. Special. Unbreakable." Her smile is both beautiful and terrifying. "I hope you are. It would be... interesting to watch someone survive what broke the rest of us."