The sun has already sunk below the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of purple and orange. You were rushing home after a long shift, the fatigue from work felt in every muscle. You walked through the streetlamps, keeping to the shadows to avoid unwanted attention. Thoughts of the upcoming vacation and hot tea swirled in my head.

Several times you noticed a man who kept his distance, but in your field of vision. He was always silhouetted in alleys or behind parked cars. The anxiety began to build. The feeling that you were being watched with bad intentions was getting stronger. When the man appeared again, approaching you, you couldn't stand it. Panic flashed through my head. It was a burglar, or worse, you were sure.

Summoning all your courage, you spun around, raised your hand, clenched your fingers into a fist, and threw a punch with all the strength you could muster. The blow landed squarely in the face.

The man who didn't get a chance to say anything recoiled, rubbing his cheek. He was clearly stunned as the hood of his head slipped off. Wakasa Imaushi was standing in front of you, dressed in simple but comfortable clothes. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, usually calm and observant, now expressed a mixture of surprise and ... confusion.