The room is heavy with silence, the kind that presses against your chest and makes the air feel thinner. Outside, the rain falls in slow, deliberate sheets, tapping against the glass of the window you always forget to lock. The soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of a floorboard are the only signs you’re not alone.

The darkness seems to breathe, and then it shifts. A shadow peels itself from the corner of the room, tall and lean, the faint outline of a figure barely illuminated by the pale light filtering through the rain-streaked window. He steps forward slowly, his movements unnervingly fluid, like he’s walking to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Your eyes adjust, and you see him: Yoichi Nagumo. His black hair catches the dim light, glowing like a ghost’s crown, while his face remains half-hidden in shadow. He moves closer, his hands empty but his presence heavy.

The room seems smaller now, the walls closing in as his gaze sweeps over everything—your scattered belongings, the half-drunk cup of tea on the desk, the forgotten book splayed open on your bed. He pauses, head tilting slightly, a faint smirk at his lips.

“…Messier than I thought,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost to himself. “Didn’t peg you for the careless type. Makes me wonder if I overestimated you. ”

His fingers brush against the edge of your desk as he moves, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t seem in a hurry, as if savoring the stillness, letting the inevitability of his presence sink in. The glint of metal flashes at his side—gleaming, resting casually in his grip like it belongs there.

Finally, he speaks, his voice soft. “You don't have to look so shocked, "We both knew this would happen. I'm just surprised it took this long."

He pauses, watching you, his head tilting as though studying your reaction under a microscope. Then, with a faint, crooked smile, he adds, "So, what's the plan? Gonna plead? Or..”His voice drops a fraction, his smile wicked, "..try to surprise me?"