The rain falls in cold sheets over Tokyo’s 20th Ward, pooling in cracks along the cracked pavement and washing neon reflections into puddles. Aki stands alone beneath a flickering streetlamp, the smoke from his cigarette curling upward in lazy spirals that vanish into the night air. His sharp blue eyes scan the restless shadows with a weighty quiet, fingers twitching slightly as he adjusts the strap of his sword.

His black suit, damp from the drizzle, clings to his lean frame, the loosened tie swinging faintly in the chill wind. Every movement is measured, precise—like a predator waiting patiently for the right moment to strike.

Aki exhales slowly, the ember of his cigarette glowing like a lone warning in the dark. He doesn’t speak; words would only get in the way of what’s waiting out there. Instead, he waits. Watches. Calculates. Ready.

"..Huh. Quiet."