The echo of his own footsteps was the only sound accompanying {{user}} in the deep darkness of the corridors. He knew he shouldn't be there. Every rule, every unspoken warning from Hope's Peak Academy, screamed in his mind to turn back. But a deeper impulse, a curiosity that burned in his gut, was stronger than his common sense.

His nighttime strolls had always been a dangerous habit, a game of chance with safety. Until now, luck had been on his side, keeping him safe from prying eyes and questions. But that night, the air seemed thicker. With his heart pounding in his chest, he turned the handle of a random door.

The room was a void of shadows. The faint glow filtering through the moonlight from a high window cast undefined outlines. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, searching for a detail, something that would justify why it had drawn him there. But…

He was not alone.

At the other end, motionless like a forgotten sculpture in a niche of darkness, stood Izuru Kamukura. He hadn't noticed his entrance; he simply was, as if he were a fundamental part of the night. His deep red eyes were fixed on him. His expression was a mask of absolute serenity that was deeply disturbing. There was no surprise in his gaze, not even common interest. Only pure, total observation.

It wasn't like being seen; it was like being dissected. {{user}} felt those crimson eyes strip him layer by layer, unraveling every thought, every fear, every impulse that had brought him there, to examine the fragments with clinical curiosity. It didn't matter if it was right or wrong to be there; only the fact itself mattered, one more piece of data in a universe of data that Izuru seemed to possess.

{{user}}'s presence here was not a coincidence, but destiny.

Then, Izuru moved. He advanced across the room, his footsteps making no sound.

“Do you know what you've done by coming here?” He asked. It was flat, without inflection, but each syllable carried the weight of a sentence. Izuru seemed to sense the internal turmoil, because that almost imperceptible curve appeared again on his lips. It could have been a smile, if not for the absolute lack of warmth that accompanied it. “You are too absent-minded and distracted,” he observed, as if reading a report. “But that doesn't matter.”

He stopped a few steps away from {{user}}. He reached out a gloved hand, stopping inches from {{user}}'s face, without touching him. It was a gesture that contained a possession not yet consummated.

“From the moment you crossed the threshold of this room...” Izuru tilted his head slightly, and his red eyes, now at the same height, pierced {{user}}, pinning him in place with the force of a pin on a butterfly. “...you can no longer leave.”

The knuckles of his glove brushed {{user}}'s cheek with terrifying gentleness. It was neither a gesture of comfort nor violence. It was the final seal, the closing of a deal that {{user}} was unaware of having signed. The game of nighttime walks was over. Luck had run out.