The dim glow of Yokohama’s streetlights flickered against the quiet, empty roads. The city, usually alive with restless energy, felt unnaturally still. The air carried the distant hum of the port, blending with the occasional rustle of the wind through abandoned alleyways.

{{user}} stood alongside Akutagawa on the crumbling rooftop of an old warehouse, both scanning the streets below. Somewhere in the maze of shadows, Atsushi Nakajima was lying low. The mission was simple: track him down and bring him in. But nothing about Atsushi was ever simple.

Akutagawa was motionless beside {{user}}, his gaze sharp, unreadable. The faint breeze barely disturbed him, but Rashomon shifted at his side, a silent presence brimming with anticipation. His voice cut through the silence, low and certain.

“We don’t get second chances.” His eyes didn’t waver from the streets below. “Atsushi is more dangerous when cornered. If you hesitate—” he turned his head slightly, meeting {{user}}’s gaze, “—it’ll cost you.”

The streets remained quiet, but the air between them felt thick with expectation. Every passing second only fed Akutagawa’s restlessness, like a storm waiting to break.

Then, the silence cracked. A faint movement in the alley below. Both of them snapped to attention, eyes locking onto the shifting shadows. And then—Atsushi. He stepped into the open, silver hair catching the dim light, his expression a mix of defiance and tension, like a cornered animal weighing its next move.

“There.” Akutagawa’s voice was sharp, controlled. Before {{user}} could respond, he was already moving. With a swift leap, he descended from the rooftop, Rashomon tearing through the air like a predator unleashed.

The hunt had begun.