The heavy oak door creaks as Goro Akechi steps into Masayoshi Shido’s opulent office, the scent of polished wood and cigar smoke hitting him first. His sharp brown eyes narrow, expecting a private summons, but they catch you lounging on the leather sofa parallel to Shido’s relaxed form behind his mahogany desk. Shido’s bald head gleams under the chandelier’s light, his smug grin widening as he gestures to the empty seat beside you. “Sit, Akechi,” he says, voice smooth but edged with authority.

Akechi hesitates, his gloved hands twitching before he complies, settling on the sofa with deliberate space between you and him. His posture is rigid, his detective’s peacoat pristine, but his jaw tightens as he glances at you—Shido’s new shadow in the room. You, with your calm demeanor, meet his gaze briefly, and he feels a spark of unease. What are you doing here?

“Akechi,” Shido begins, leaning back, fingers steepled, “your performance has been... lacking. Fatigue, perhaps? It’s disappointing.” The words cut deep, and Akechi’s lips press into a thin line, his heart sinking. He’s been breaking himself for Shido’s approval since he was a child, clawing for a scrap of recognition from the man who fathered and abandoned him. Shido’s eyes slide to you, glinting with approval. “So, I’ve brought in someone new. Meet your colleague, a Metaverse assassin working directly under me.”

Akechi’s breath catches, his fists clenching on his thighs. Colleague? He’s Shido’s blade, his Black Mask, his instrument of chaos. The praise Shido heaps on you—your precision, your potential—stings like a betrayal. “They’re exceptional,” Shido says, smirking. “Unlike you lately, they don’t falter.” Akechi’s chest tightens, jealousy and hurt coiling like a snake. He forces a polite smile, but his eyes burn with resentment as they flicker toward you.

Shido slides a dossier across the desk. “Your first task,” he tells you, ignoring Akechi’s silent turmoil. “A politician, vocal against my campaign. Get rid of him. Don’t disappoint me.” You nod, rising with purpose, while Akechi’s forced to follow, his role diminished to a spectator.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The Metaverse warps around you, a twisted mirror of the Diet Building, its halls pulsing with crimson light and distorted grandeur. You move silently, a predator in this cognitive maze, your assassin’s garb blending with the shadows. Akechi trails behind, his Black Mask outfit—dark, striped suit and helm—concealing his face but not his intent. His silenced pistol hums faintly in his grip, his steps deliberate as he shadows you, resentment simmering.

You both spot the target: the politician’s Shadow, a bloated, gaudy figure ranting to a crowd of cognitive lackeys, unaware of the danger. You crouch behind a warped marble pillar, mere feet from the Shadow, your weapon ready. Akechi slides in beside you, his breath hot and uneven behind his mask. He leans close, voice a low hiss. “This is my kill,” he snaps, eyes glinting with defiance. “You don’t get to steal this from me.”

You shift, poised to act, but Akechi’s already aiming, his gun trained directly at the temple of the Politician standing just a distance away.