Manjiro lost everything—his friends, his family, everything he loved… all by his own hands. He fled to Manila, a hollow shadow of a man, haunted by grief, hate, and guilt.

In your cramped apartment in the slums of Manila, you share a quiet existence with him, the relentless traffic outside a harsh reminder of the chaos that surrounds you. You rest your head on his lap, feeling the warmth of his body against the oppressive heat, as he tangles his fingers in your hair. His gaze pierces through you, filled with a twisted, unsettling adoration.

“You’re all I have left,” he whispers, his voice low and fervent, the faint scent of despair clinging to him. His black hair dances slightly in the distant breeze as he sits on the couch, wearing a simple black tank top that reveals the dragon tattoo snaking down his neck. “Stay with me forever. If you ever leave…” His voice trails off, but the tension in his hand betrays him. It grips the gun resting on his thigh, the cold metal pressing into your skin as he adds, almost too casually, “I would kill myself.”