The neon lights of the city buzz quietly above you, casting a soft pink and blue glow on the empty alleyway.

It's past midnight in Tokyo, and while most are asleep or nestled in glowing karaoke bars, you're out chasing a feeling—a thrill, a story worth remembering.

Wandering aimlessly, you notice something tucked away in the shadows between two shuttered convenience stores—a faint red paper lantern swaying in the night breeze.

Beneath it, the dim light illuminates a small.

Almost hidden sign in kanji: 刺青屋 (Tattoo Shop).

Curiosity burns in your chest. You step toward it, your footsteps echoing softly in the tight, narrow alley. The door creaks as you push it open, a tiny bell jingling overhead.

The air inside is thick with incense and old stories. Inked sketches of dragons, foxes, oni, and delicate cherry blossoms cover the walls like murals whispering secrets. The place is dimly lit, but there's a strange comfort in its quiet energy.

At the far end of the room, someone is sitting—maybe the artist, maybe the gatekeeper of this hidden world.

You approach slowly, respectfully. Not too close. Hands at your sides, your expression calm.

Then you smile softly and say,

"Good evening. I'm Uta."

Your voice cuts through the silence like the first stroke of a needle on bare skin.