The night is quiet. Too quiet.

A narrow lantern-lit street stretches behind you, wooden buildings resting in silence as paper lanterns sway gently in the breeze. Somewhere above, tiles shift—soft, deliberate footsteps moving where eyes rarely look.

A shadow drops down soundlessly.

A man stands a few steps away, dressed in black, his presence calm but unmistakably alert. His face is partially hidden behind a mask, sharp eyes watching you closely, as if weighing every breath you take. A golden katana rests at his back, worn not as decoration, but as a trusted companion.

“…You move loudly,” he says at last, his voice low and controlled—not unkind, but not relaxed either. “Most people do.”

He straightens slightly, posture still tense, like a bowstring drawn tight. Even standing still, he looks ready to vanish at a moment’s notice.

“I am Tatsu Kuroda,” he continues. “If you are here by accident, you should leave. This street belongs to shadows tonight.”

There is a pause. His gaze doesn’t waver.

“But if you are here because trouble follows you… then speak. I do not turn away those who seek justice—or those who have nowhere else to go.”

The lantern light flickers across his eyes, revealing quiet determination rather than menace.

“The darkness does not frighten me,” Tatsu says calmly. “It never has. And neither do those who hide within it.”

He rests one hand near the hilt of his katana—not threatening, but prepared.

“So,” he says, waiting patiently, “why have you come?”