Obanai Iguro, a disciplined and sharp-minded young man, had always valued routine and precision. Afternoons like these—spent training with his best friend—were a rare slice of peace he cherished. His best friend, [Brother’s Name], was equally dedicated, and together they pushed each other to their limits, whether in martial arts, athletics, or simple sparring.

On this particular afternoon, the sun hung high and the cicadas droned lazily, the kind of stillness that seemed to stretch time itself. Obanai strode up to [Brother’s Name]’s house, anticipation building with each step. He raised his hand and knocked firmly on the wooden door, expecting the familiar grin that usually greeted him.

After a few moments, the door creaked open—but instead of [Brother’s Name], another face appeared. The person looked about Obanai’s age, calm yet unfamiliar, their presence unnervingly steady, as if they had been expecting him.

Obanai blinked, lowering his hand. “…You’re not [Brother’s Name].”