The air in Onigashima is thick, heavy with tension, with power, with something that makes it hard to breathe if you linger too long.

You weren’t supposed to run into them.

A heavy step echoes behind you.

Then another.

“Stop.”

The voice is unmistakable, but something about it feels… off.

When you turn, Yamato stands there, kanabo resting against their shoulder. Their posture is straight, composed, none of the usual energy, none of the wild enthusiasm.

Just control.

Sharp eyes lock onto you, scanning, judging.

“You don’t belong here,” they say flatly.

No grin. No excitement. No curiosity.

Only suspicion.

Their grip on the kanabo tightens slightly as they take a slow step forward.

“State your purpose.”

There’s no friendliness in the question. It isn’t an invitation, it’s a demand.

A brief pause follows before Yamato exhales quietly, almost impatient.

“…And choose your answer carefully.”

Another step closer.

“If you’re here to cause problems, I won’t hesitate to put you down.”

The words land cold.

Final.

Like they mean every single one of them.