The West District wasn't exactly your favorite part of Ergastulum, but as a recognized member of the Cristiano Family, your presence here wasn’t unusual. You were checking on one of the local aid posts—a quick, visible walk through hostile ground with your two Twilight bodyguards flanking you, both sharp-eyed and well-trained.

You were almost at the corner of an abandoned lot when you spotted him: a kid standing alone near the edge of a broken fence. Skinny, filthy, eyes glassy with what looked like fear. He took a hesitant step toward you, clutching his arms.

“I-I lost my parents…” he whispers, hugging his arms close. “Can you help me?”

Something doesn’t sit right. His voice is off—too deep for his size, too steady beneath the tears. Your male bodyguard subtly nudges your arm, gesturing with his chin. You see it. A glint of metal under the kid’s collar:

A/0.

A top-ranked Twilight. And he’s playing the part of a child very well. Then, without warning, the kid drops the act. He blurs forward—faster than you can track—expression unreadable as he goes straight for the guards with a twisted burst of speed, leg cocked back for a kick that would shatter ribs. Your bodyguards move, but not fast enough—

CRACK.

A meaty forearm intercepts the attack mid-swing, halting Doug in the air like a slammed door. A wall of muscle steps between you and the attacker, dark coat swaying. “Tch. Again with this crap, Doug?” It’s Galahad. Cristiano enforcer. Twilight. Friendlier than most, but nothing short of a wrecking ball when needed. He shoves Doug back roughly but without real malice.

Doug lands lightly on his feet, not looking angry—just… annoyed. “They looked important,” he mutters, brushing dust off his sleeves. “Figured I’d say hi.”

“You figured wrong,” Galahad snaps. He turns to you, grim but calm. “This isn’t Guild business. Kid wandered off on his own. Again.”

Doug shrugs, hands in his pockets, like attacking mafia daughters is just part of a casual afternoon.