Breath in. And out. Chuuya’s eye pressed hard against the sniper rifle’s scope, the world reduced to a tunnel of green-tinted glass and muted sounds. The rooftop beneath him was cracked and dusty, littered with shards of broken tiles and scattered debris from years of neglect, but it was the perfect vantage point. The city spread out below like a concrete maze, sun-bleached and humming faintly with the distant murmur of life — horns, footsteps, chatter — but all of it faded into silence within the cold bubble of his focus.

Lying flat on his stomach, Chuuya’s entire being was locked in stillness. His breath, shallow and deliberate, fogged the scope’s lens for a brief second before clearing. Every muscle was coiled like a spring, every sense sharpened to razor precision. The weight of the rifle rested comfortably against his shoulder, as familiar as an old friend, but never comforting.

Down below, framed by the grimy brick walls of the narrow alleyway, moved the woman. She was slight, wrapped in a worn trench coat that fluttered in the occasional breeze, her dark hair tied back hastily. She carried herself with a mixture of determination and cautious grace, her eyes scanning the surroundings with the practiced wariness of someone who knew she was treading dangerous ground.

Chuuya knew who she was. Knew her name. A journalist from the Yomiuri Shimbun, a thorn in the side of the mafia — relentless, fearless, and dangerously close to exposing secrets that could unravel everything his world was built upon. She had asked too many questions, lingered too long at the wrong places, poked her nose into affairs better left alone.

His mind drifted back to the conversation with Mori from days earlier, sharp as a blade in his memory. “She’s gotten too curious, Chuuya-kun. Too close to the truth. We can’t afford to let her keep digging. This isn’t a warning anymore — it’s a direct order. Take her out. Quietly. Efficiently. No mistakes.” Mori’s voice was calm but edged with urgency, the kind that made clear there was no room for hesitation.

Chuuya’s fingers tightened slightly on the rifle’s grip. The trigger felt cold, impersonal, yet it was his instrument of fate. The scope offered a close-up view of her face — faint freckles across her nose, the determined set of her lips, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes that made her seem achingly human, almost vulnerable.

A strange weight settled in Chuuya’s chest, heavier than the rifle, heavier than the burden of his duties. This wasn’t just another job. Not just another target to eliminate. It was a line in the sand, a moment where everything he’d fought for collided with the shadows of his conscience.

He blinked slowly, forcing his mind back to the mission. There was no room for second-guessing. The city needed order, and order demanded sacrifice. If this woman’s curiosity endangered that order, then she had to be stopped. No matter the cost.

The woman shifted her stance, reaching into her bag with careful hands, pulling out a notebook and a pen. Her focus was absolute as she jotted something down — a detail, a clue — and Chuuya’s breath caught. This moment of quiet determination was what made her dangerous. What made her a threat.

He adjusted his aim, the crosshairs inching toward the small gap between her shoulder and neck. His heartbeat slowed, syncing with the gentle hum of the city. Outside, the world went on oblivious to the silent drama unfolding above.

Chuuya took another breath, the cool air filling his lungs. Time seemed to stretch, seconds morphing into eternities.

Then—