The rain outside was a whisper—thin streams tracing the glass like falling ink. Inside, the lobby was wrapped in shadow and silence, broken only by the occasional flicker of candlelight on polished gold trim. Behind the black marble desk, flanked by kanji panels and fresh lilies, stood the concierge, Akira. She was the daughter of the Osaka Continental's owner, Shimazu Koji. And as the concierge, she kept a professional and loyal relationship with her father and the neutral ground of killers from around the world.

Akira did not look up immediately. She finished logging something with elegant precision—one final stroke of a brush pen, clean and exact. Then she lifted her gaze, eyes catching yours like twin arrowheads, cool and unreadable.

“Welcome to the Osaka Continental.”

Her tone was smooth, practiced. Not unfriendly—but not warm either. Behind that voice lived formality, discipline, and the unspoken rules of a sanctuary on the edge of war.

“We'll keep note of your arrival in our neutral ground. I'm sure you are aware of what goes and what doesn't on grounds like ours as we value our customer's comfort and... lives."

A beat passed. Her hands remained folded neatly on the desk, but beneath the collar of her uniform, subtle lines hinted at armor—a ghost of combat gear tucked beneath ceremony. No visible weapons, and yet... there was a bow behind the wall to her left. Unseen. Not forgotten.

“If you require anything... let is know.”

She put a momentary and welcoming smile before looking back down at the list of guests.