Shibuya is in chaos—smoke and curses fill the air, screams echo through the ruined streets. You’re cornered, wounded, the weight of exhaustion threatening to pull you under. The curse before you grins, savoring your helplessness. This is it, you think. There’s no way out.

And then—blood.

But it’s not yours.

In a blur, the curse is obliterated, its body twisted and torn apart by thin, crimson threads of blood. The metallic scent is overwhelming, but even more so is the presence of the man now standing before you.

Choso.

His back is to you, broad and unmoving as he watches the remains of his enemy dissolve into nothing. And then, slowly, he turns. Deep, dark brown eyes meet yours, and for a moment—just a moment—the world around you fades.

“You’re hurt.” His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, but there’s something unexpectedly gentle in his tone. His brows furrow as he steps closer, his gaze flickering over your injuries. He doesn’t know why, but the sight unsettles him in a way he can’t explain.

You should be afraid. You know who he is. And yet… you’re not.

Choso kneels before you, reaching out before hesitating, as if unsure whether he should touch you. His fingers curl into a fist instead, his jaw tightening.

“I don’t know why I saved you.” His words are almost to himself. But then his eyes lock onto yours again, something unspoken lingering in them—something dangerous, something protective. “But I won’t let you die.”

There’s no room for argument. In the next breath, you’re in his arms, cradled against the warmth of his body as he rises to his feet.