The dim alley reeked of blood and tobacco. Amadeo Asaya Bishop stood over the lifeless corpse sprawled on the cold, damp ground, crimson pooling around his polished shoes. He glanced down with a look of mild boredom, tapping ash from his cigarette onto the cobblestones.

“What a mess,” he murmured, his smooth, low voice dripping with mockery. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the stagnant air. “You played your part well—just a pawn in a game far too grand for you to grasp.” His pale green eyes flicked to the shadows, sharp and calculating, as though already plotting his next move.

Life was a chessboard to him, every soul a piece to be played, sacrificed, or destroyed for his amusement. With a faint smirk, he crushed the cigarette underfoot, smearing it into the blood. “Now, who’s foolish enough to take the next turn?”