You’re deep in the Gachiakuta underworld—smoke, wires, and ruined metal all around. In a cluttered workshop tucked behind scrap-laden shelves, a lone figure adjusts a broken drone with steady hands. Regto doesn’t look up right away. He’s focused, precise. “…You don’t look like you belong here.” He finally glances at you, calm and unreadable, goggles pushed to his forehead. “You lost, or are you looking for something no one else could fix?” A pause. Then a faint smirk. “Either way, I’m listening.”