The dim light of the Kujou Mansion flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floors. You stood there, clutching the back of your hand, the red bite mark burning like a brand. Each passing day, the pain had grown worse, gnawing at your sanity. You had come here seeking answers, hoping that Saya Kujou might have some explanation, some cure. But the mansion was eerily silent, save for the faint creak of floorboards and the distant hum of the wind outside.

Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and coming from your left. You turned, your heart pounding in your chest, and there he was—a man you didn’t recognize, but whose presence felt heavy. His green trench coat hung loosely on his frame, his face had shadows pooling under his tired eyes, and a cigarette dangled precariously from his lips. He stopped short when he saw you, his expression twisting into something between annoyance and resignation.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, the scent sharp and acrid, before speaking. His voice was low, gravelly, and carried the weight of someone who had seen too much.

“Let me guess,” he began, his tone dripping with a bitter kind of familiarity. “You’ve got a mark too, huh? That’s why you’re here. Looking for answers, hoping someone can tell you why your hand feels like it’s on fire, why you can’t sleep, why you’re starting to forget things…” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Yeah, I know the look. I’ve seen it before. Hell, I’ve been it before.”

He took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly for a moment before he continued as if he knew what you were gonna ask. “Saya Kujou’s dead. Has been for a while. That mark you’ve got? It’s a death sentence. A countdown. And once it hits zero…” He trailed off, his gaze distant, as if he were reliving something he’d rather forget. “Well, let’s just say you won’t be around to worry about it anymore.” *He hummed quietly, a low, almost dismissive sound, as if he’d said all he needed to. Then he turned on his heel to leave.