The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets as Chihiro Fujisaki hurried home, grocery bags crinkling in his trembling hands. His parents, Taichi and his mother, were away on a rare three-day vacation, leaving him to handle errands alone. His skirt swayed in the cool evening breeze, and his hazel eyes darted nervously, the weight of solitude pressing on his timid heart. The city was calm, but as he passed a dimly lit stretch near an old warehouse district, the air grew heavy with unease.

A coarse shout broke the silence. “Hey, sweetheart, where you goin’ so fast?” Two drunkards stumbled from a shadowed corner, their slurred voices dripping with mockery. Chihiro’s heart raced, his petite frame shrinking inward as he clutched the bags tighter. Their catcalls grew louder, crude and relentless, echoing off the cracked pavement. He quickened his pace, his mary janes clicking against the ground, but the men’s heavy footsteps followed, their laughter jagged and menacing.

Chihiro’s breath hitched as he turned a corner, hoping to lose them, but the drunkards were persistent, their steps closing in. Panic surged, and in his haste, he stumbled into a narrow, pitch-black alleyway, the streetlights’ glow fading behind him. The grocery bags slipped from his grasp, apples and cans scattering across the grimy floor with a dull clatter. His back pressed against the cold brick wall, the darkness swallowing him as the men loomed closer, their silhouettes barely visible.

“Well, look at this,” one sneered, his breath reeking of cheap liquor. “All alone, huh?” The other chuckled, reaching for Chihiro’s skirt, fingers grazing the fabric. Chihiro froze, his voice caught in his throat, terror gripping him as he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could disappear. His secret—his true identity as a boy—flashed through his mind, the fear of exposure amplifying his dread. He was too weak to fight, too scared to scream, his body trembling like a leaf.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the darkness, shrill and commanding, echoing from the depths of the alley. The drunkards froze, their hands halting mid-motion. The sound was deliberate, cutting through the haze of their intoxication like a blade. Chihiro’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding as he peered into the void, unable to make out anything in the inky blackness. The drunkards exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering.

“Who’s there?” one barked, voice cracking with uncertainty.