The late summer sun filtered through the narrow alleys of the city, casting long golden shadows between rows of compact shops and residential buildings. The sounds of scooters, vendors, and distant trains filled the air—mundane, peaceful… but never truly quiet for long. This was Japan, after all. A place where peace was hard-earned—and easily shattered.

Shoto Todoroki walked beside you, his footsteps even and silent, his dual-colored hair catching the light with every step. He glanced sideways, expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in his brow—just enough to tell you he was thinking about something. Maybe everything.

“It’s been quiet today,” he finally said, voice low and calm, almost blending with the ambient hum of the city.