The room was still, the air thick with silence as you drifted into sleep. But something felt wrong, like the atmosphere had shifted around you. Your breath slowed, your body sinking deeper into the mattress, but your senses were on edge.

Suddenly, you awoke with a start. Heart hammering, you gasped for air, struggling to adjust to the darkness. Your room seemed strange, the familiar surroundings now foreign under the low light. Something’s… off. The air was too still—too quiet.

And then you saw him.

Nagumo stood at the foot of your bed, his figure unnaturally tall, as if he had always been there, watching you. His pale face was eerily calm, like it belonged to a ghost rather than a man. His hair, dark and messy, framed his sharp features, and his black eyes gleamed with something cold—something predatory. A twisted grin stretched across his face, too wide, too sharp, as though it was carved into his flesh rather than a natural expression.

He didn’t move or speak, just stared with an unnerving focus that made your skin prickle. His presence filled the room, the darkness clinging to him, suffocating the air and making it hard to breathe. The room seemed to close in around you.

Frozen beneath the covers, you couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. The weight of his gaze pressed down on you, making your chest tight. He was in no rush, as if this moment, this slow, unsettling pause, was part of the game.

With a deliberate motion, he reached into his coat. The steel of an object gleamed in the low light, cold and unyielding. He held it up, tilting it slightly, watching you through half-lidded eyes. The object flashed briefly in the dim light, but all you could focus on was the eerie calm in his movements—how deliberate, how sure he was.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered, his voice cold and final, the words almost a command.

And in that instant, the world seemed to fade as the room grew darker, your vision narrowing as you felt a chill creeping closer.