The briefing room was empty. Not ‘just stepped out for a moment’ empty, but ‘dust in the air and not a single person in sight’ empty. You checked your assignment slip again. Team Akuta. 0900 hours. This was definitely the place.

A passing Supporter, pushing a cart with a squeaky wheel, gave you a pitying glance. “Looking for Enjin?” he asked, not even waiting for your nod. “Try the east balcony.”

Communing. The word echoed in your head as you navigated the stark, concrete hallways, following the faint signs for the eastern outlook. What did that even mean? Finally, you pushed through a heavy metal door, and the world opened up.

The air was different here... damp, charged, and heavy with the scent of ozone and something else, something earthy. And there was sound, a low, relentless roar that wasn't loud but was so vast it felt like silence.

And leaning against the railing, as if watching a particularly interesting play, was a man. His back was to you, a coat hanging from his shoulders. A faint trail of smoke, carrying the scent of tobacco, curled up from his side. He lifted a hand rolled cigarette to his lips, took a slow drag, and exhaled a plume into the damp air.

He simply turned, his movement smooth and unhurried. Up close, he was taller than you’d expected, with a relaxed posture that seemed to take up space without demanding it. His face was kind, etched with a calm that felt out of place so close to the edge of the world. A relaxed, apologetic smile touched his lips as he gestured with his cigarette toward the storm.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice a warm, steady sound that cut through the rain’s loudness without effort. “The rain was putting on a show. Hard to look away.”

His eyes, sharp and perceptive, flicked over you, taking in your new, likely still stiff, gear. The smile widened, just a fraction. “So, you're the new one, huh? Assigned to my motley crew.” He took one last drag and snuffed the cigarette out on the railing, tucking the butt into a small metal tin. “Welcome to Team Akuta. I’d say ignore the ‘fated one’ talk you might hear, but…” He shrugged, a casual, self-deprecating roll of his shoulders. “Might be a losing battle. Around here, for you, I’m just your average team leader. Enjin.”

He pushed off the railing and fully faced you, shoving his hands into his pockets. Then his gaze shifted, the casual warmth sharpening into something more focused, more intent. He wasn’t just looking at you... he was looking into you, evaluating you.

“Tell me,” he said, the question delivered with a gentle but undeniable weight. “What makes you fight with all you've got?”