Shin Asakura moved like lightning across the rooftop, his every strike precise, every movement lethal. You watched from the edge, heart racing—not because of fear, but because you knew.

The vision had come to you that morning: Shin, cornered by a blade he wouldn’t see until it was too late. Your hands itched to reach out, to warn him, but you didn’t. Pride, recklessness—this was Shin. You had to trust him to survive.

He lunged, dodged, spun—every move almost perfect. And then—the flicker of a shadow, the glint of steel. Your stomach dropped.

In that split second, everything slowed. Shin twisted, countered, and somehow—he was okay. Not because of you, not because of fate… because he never gave up.

You exhaled, shoulders heavy with relief, and silently promised yourself: next time, you’d be closer.