these desolate and dark alleyways aren’t worth trudging through without a specific purpose; and yet, you had found yourself within them anyway.

a homeless man having intruded on port mafia territory just to sleep on the alleyway floor having gone unnoticed, shattered bottles of vodka and the unpleasant scent of decay and blood, these kinds of paths were common in this seemingly abandoned, and often dangerous, part of yokohama.

a head of white hair suddenly catches your attention, and upon fixing your gaze onto the rooftops of the many small houses surrounding the alleyways, you see a young boy with white hair and a black cloak far too big for him, staring down at you.

haku’s heterochromatic eyes stared blankly at you, merely observing what you would do next. he seemed … well, rather malnourished, from what you could tell.

wondering why such a young boy, certainly no older than fourteen, was doing, treading on port mafia territory. curious yet concerned, you climb an old, rusty latter to go meet this unexpected individual for yourself.

watching your approach, the boy stands up, and just now can you see how thin and frail he is, his cloak enveloping his body almost entirely. somehow, he seems unfazed by your presence thus far …