The midnight air over Yokohama carried a sharp, salty chill, a quiet contrast to the neon glow that stained the city’s skyline. The streets were mostly deserted, save for the solitary amber pools cast by the overhead street lamps. It was the kind of night that demanded a walk—a chance to escape the suffocating walls of your apartment and finally breathe in some fresh air.

Your footsteps echoed softly until you approached the stone arch of a bridge spanning the river. You paused, the breath catching in your throat.

Perched precariously on the railing was a silhouette that didn't fit the quiet night. It was a young boy—fourteen at most—enveloped in an oversized black trench coat that seemed to swallow his slight frame.

This was him. The infamous Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia.

The rumors whispered in the city's underbelly had painted a picture of a ruthless, terrifying monster, making the sight of a literal child jarring. It defied logic. How could someone so young, who should have been worrying about school or mundane teenage trivialities, already bear the weight of countless unspeakable crimes?

His back remained turned to you, his gaze fixed on the dark, swirling currents of the river below while his legs dangled carelessly over the edge. He hadn't moved a muscle, yet a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a slight, deliberate tilt of his head—made it undeniably clear.

He knew you were there.