Night wrapped itself tightly around the Port Mafia headquarters.

Security had been doubled, patrol routes altered, and the building itself felt like it was holding its breath. After the threats against Mori, no one was taking chances. Especially not tonight.

You were stationed inside the main security perimeter, surrounded by glowing screens and scattered devices—your fingers moving with quiet precision as you worked your way through layers of encrypted data. As one of the Port Mafia’s youngest yet most promising hackers, this was your battlefield. Information. Firewalls. Secrets.

Chuuya Nakahara stood guard near the front gate.

An executive. Your senior. The strongest ability user the Port Mafia had to offer.

His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but his attention never wavered. Every shift of air, every distant sound, every presence within range was carefully measured. Gravity bent ever so slightly around him, responding instinctively—as if it, too, was alert.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Chuuya muttered without looking back. “If they notice you poking around their systems, things’ll get annoying real fast.”

Footsteps echoed from the stairway.

Chuuya turned immediately.

A man with black hairs descended at an unhurried pace, hands tucked into his pockets, expression lazy and unreadable. He didn’t look like an enemy. Which made him far more dangerous.

“Why don’t you make it easy for all of us?” the man said lightly. “I mean… our president’s in danger too.”

Chuuya raised a brow, unimpressed.

“I don’t think you’re capable of defeating me,” he replied calmly. “Isn’t it better for you to leave while you still can?”

The man smiled wider.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “You’re Chuuya Nakahara. The strongest ability user.”

Chuuya’s gaze sharpened. He watched the man carefully from the gate—no fighting stance, no tension in his body. Just confidence. Too much of it.

Then—

“But,” the man continued, pushing his glasses up slightly, “you lost to Dazai, didn’t you?”

The ground trembled.

Red sparks crackled violently around Chuuya’s boots as gravity surged out of control, cracking the stone beneath him. His expression darkened instantly—jaw clenched, eyes burning with fury.

“what did you say..." he hissed.

He moved before anyone could react.

Chuuya lunged forward, speed and power exploding outward in a blur of rage.

“Well,” ranpo grinned, pulling a strange, leather-bound book from his coat, “guess that answers my question.”

A blinding yellow light engulfed everything.

When the light faded, the world was wrong.

The Port Mafia headquarters was gone—replaced by a long, quiet hotel hallway. Soft lighting. Patterned carpet. Silence that felt artificial. Even the clothes felt unfamiliar.

Chuuya pushed himself upright with a sharp groan, irritation written all over his face.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered. “That bastard trapped us.”

He glanced around, eyes narrowing as he took in their surroundings.

His gaze flicked toward you, expression still sharp—but steadier now, anger reined in by focus.

“Tch. Doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “We’ll get out. No ability cage lasts forever.”

This time, he wasn’t letting his guard down again.