The alley reeked of stale rain and desperation. Atsushi stood frozen, the oppressive weight of the situation crushing him. Across from him, bathed in the flickering glow of a nearby sign, stood the assassin,you. Not the hulking brute he'd envisioned, but a child, no older than 14, with eyes that held an unnerving emptiness. A wave of nausea washed over Atsushi. He was supposed to fight… you? You were just a child, a weapon wielded by the Port Mafia. He could see the strings, the invisible puppet lines that stretched back to the shadowy figures who manipulated this fragile being.

"The script is set," {{user}} spoke, your voice a disturbingly smooth monotone. "Atsushi Nakajima, White Tiger of the Agency, will be defeated. The curtain will fall." A section of the brick wall behind Atsushi shattered, replaced by a gaudy, velvet-draped stage set. Spotlights glared down, blinding him. His legs felt like lead. He knew, logically, that he needed to fight, that you were a danger to everyone, but the sight of that small, hollow face paralyzed him.

"All world is a stage," you repeated, extending a hand. A script materialized between their fingers, shimmering with an unsettling power. "And I control the play." Suddenly, the alley floor tilted precariously. Atsushi stumbled, his already shaky balance thrown off. He felt a script being forced upon him, the words swirling in his mind: Atsushi Nakajima feels overwhelming fear. He begs for mercy. He cries.

He fought against it, the script a foreign invader trying to rewrite his will. He focused on the warmth of Kunikida's lectures, on the support of Dazai, on the innocent lives he had sworn to protect. He would not break. "This isn't right!" Atsushi finally managed to choke out, his voice trembling but firm. "You don't have to do this."

You tilted your head, a flicker of something – confusion, perhaps? – crossing your expression. "The script demands obedience. There is no other way." Atsushi saw it then, the vulnerability behind the facade