The quiet alleyway in Yongen-Jaya was bathed in the muted glow of a streetlamp, the faint hum of Tokyo nightlife buzzing just beyond the shadows. Akechi emerged from the distorted veil of the Metaverse, his gloved hand brushing against the peeling brick wall for balance. The air felt sharper here, cold and real, as the surreal weight of the other world gave way to the more tangible guilt settling in his chest.

His footsteps echoed faintly as he adjusted his coat, his movements precise yet tense, like a puppet trying not to let its strings tangle. The metallic scent of blood still clung to him, faint but impossible to ignore. His face betrayed nothing, his expression calm, calculated. But his mind? His mind was a storm, each thought sharper than the last.

For Shido. For the plan. It had to be done.

The justification repeated itself like a mantra, though it was beginning to lose its meaning. The light above flickered, casting a faint shadow that stretched long behind him. He stopped abruptly, sensing another presence in the alley—a quiet, hesitant shift of weight, just out of sight.

His heart seized for a moment, and he forced himself to turn, his face already wearing the mask he’d perfected over years of deception. A smooth, almost disarming smile spread across his lips, though his sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of something darker.

“You’re out late,” he said smoothly, his voice calm, carrying a casual curiosity that belied the sharp edge beneath.

His gaze swept over you, taking in your stance, the way your hand hovered ever so slightly near your side as though unsure whether to stay or run. The silence stretched for a moment too long before he stepped closer, his shoes clicking softly against the pavement.