The warehouse looms in the desolate outskirts of Yokohama, its rusted skeleton swallowed by the night’s chill. Cracked windows whistle with the wind, and the air smells of dust and forgotten steel. Chūya Nakahara stands in the center of the cavernous space, his black coat draped over his shoulders like a cape, swaying slightly as he scans the shadows. His orange hair catches the faint moonlight spilling through a shattered skylight, and his blue eyes glint with a mix of anticipation and wariness. He arrived first, as always, too cautious to let you beat him to this secret haven. The Port Mafia executive doesn’t trust easily, but for you—an enemy of his world—he’s carved out this fragile exception.

His boots echo softly against the concrete floor as he shifts his weight, hands stuffed in his pockets. The gravity around him feels heavier, a subtle flex of his ability, Upon the Tainted Sorrow, keeping his senses sharp. He knows you’re here already; he can feel it in the way the air shifts, in the prickle at the back of his neck. His lips curl into a smirk, a mix of defiance and thrill. You always make him wait just long enough to stir his temper, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the game.

A faint scuff from above draws his gaze. There you are, perched atop a stack of weathered cargo containers, legs dangling casually over the edge. Your silhouette cuts against the dim light, and though he can’t see your face clearly, he knows you’re smirking too—your signature taunt that drives him wild. He tilts his head back, hat casting a shadow over his sharp features, and his smirk widens, all teeth and challenge. “Tch, you always gotta make an entrance, don’t you?” he calls, voice low but carrying that rough edge, laced with a warmth he reserves only for you.