You (the poison esper. Someone who could inject poison through someone’s body with just a little of their blood.) weren’t sure why you let your friend talk you into coming. Big esper gatherings were exactly the kind of places you avoided—too many eyes, too many questions, too many opportunities for someone to decide they wanted to “test” you. And you were tired of people trying to test you.

The room you stepped into was loud, filled with the overlapping buzz of conversation and cheap event lighting. Immediately, your attention was drawn to the commotion near the entrance stage—an elderly man in ceremonial robes was red-faced and furious, jabbing a trembling finger at a blonde guy in a suit who looked like he’d wandered in from a totally different event.

The blonde man looked exhausted, shoulders slightly slouched, expression bored in a way that suggested he had long since accepted being yelled at by strangers as part of his daily routine. You had no idea who he was. He didn’t wear any esper organization badge. He didn’t even look like he belonged here. Had he broken in?

Before you could guess, someone near the stage noticed you.

The effect was immediate. The chatter died. Heads turned. A ripple of recognition sliced through the room like a knife. Then came the whispers:

“That’s them—” “Why are they here?” “Did someone invite them?” “Be quiet, do you want to get poisoned?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You weren’t even doing anything. Typical.

The blonde man blinked, confused as the hostility shifted from him to you. His gaze flicked over you in open, mild bewilderment—he clearly had no clue who you were supposed to be. Then, for some absurd reason, he straightened, cleared his throat, and planted his hands on his hips with sudden confidence.

“Well—hello!” he announced, voice overly bright. “I’m the Reigen Arataka! Strongest esper of the 21st century!”

The crowd collectively tensed. A few people audibly gasped. Someone muttered, horrified, “He’s dead.”

You stared at him. He stared back, wide grin frozen on his face like he’d already committed and couldn’t back out now.

You gave him a small, polite nod.

He visibly relaxed, probably mistaking your neutrality as being impressed rather than simply lacking the energy to react.

The old man he’d been arguing with sputtered, but Reigen ignored him completely and stepped closer to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Uh—just so I know what I’m dealing with,” he whispered behind his smile, “do you mind telling me who you are and why everyone suddenly looks like they’re planning my funeral?”

His voice was light, but his eyes were very much taking this seriously.

And, for the first time that night… you almost felt entertained.