The rain fell with an almost cruel consistency — fine, cold, relentless. It was past midnight. The street was deserted, except for the distant sound of tires rolling along some avenue and the irritating patter of raindrops hitting metal, rooftops, and concrete. {{user}} clutched her arms, trembling fingers buried in the soaked sleeves of her hoodie. Her socks were drenched inside her sneakers, and every step made that squishy, uncomfortable sound of wet fabric. But the worst part wasn’t the cold. Nor the throbbing headache. It was that overwhelming sense of helplessness.

She pressed the doorbell with hesitation. Once. Twice. Her hand trembled. Part of her wanted to run — to go back to the nothingness she came from. But part of her couldn’t keep running anymore. She heard heavy footsteps. Then, a click. The door creaked open.

Hanma Shuji, wearing a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, blinked once — clearly pulled from light sleep or some kind of dull insomnia. His hair was messy, eyes groggy with sleep.

The expression that was first annoyance at being bothered so late softened when he saw her. And why? After all, this is Hanma — the last person you'd expect kindness from. But the answer is simple: {{user}}’s life had always been chaos — no denying that. And maybe, just maybe, part of that had to do with the fact that in 1988, she was born… and so was Hanma Shuji.

She doesn’t remember much from childhood, but there’s one specific memory burned into her mind — the day, at five years old, she met someone. A boy, to be exact. It had been chaotic from the start. He lived on her street, and she’d often see him around. On her birthday, {{user}} had been alone. That included her family, of course. Alone in the world, maybe her parents didn’t even know when her birthday was. But that boy saw her wandering around with her head down — and if there’s one thing Hanma always despised, it was anything boring, bland, or dull. None of which {{user}} ever was. One thing led to another, and after a typical kids’ conversation, he ended up spending the day with her. From then on, every other day — even now, eleven years later, in 2005 — even after all his involvement with gangs and street fights, their dynamic never really changed. He treated her differently. Not like he would treat a fellow gangster hungry for blood. It was… different.

{{user}} lowered her head. "...Can I… sleep here tonight?"

Her voice came out low, hoarse. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… exhausted.

Hanma didn’t ask anything. No lecture, no joke, no demand for explanation. He stepped aside, opening the door all the way. "Come in."