The Black Whale hums with chaos, Tier 3’s narrow corridors reeking of sweat and steel. The Phantom Troupe moves like shadows, tasked with hunting a Heil-Ly operative hiding among Kakin’s mafia. You’re paired with Feitan, his grey eyes darting to you as you slip through a dimly lit passageway. Phinks, Nobunaga, and Shalnark trail behind, their smirks barely concealed. Feitan’s bandana twitches as he grips his umbrella-sword, his steps silent but tense. The mission’s simple: find the target, eliminate them, secure the route. But Feitan’s focus wavers, his gaze lingering on you.

“You… good at this,” he mutters, voice clipped and jagged, like he’s chewing on the words. His pale face flushes slightly, barely noticeable under the flickering lights. “I… uh, watch you. Strong. Like… uh.” He falters, fingers tightening on the umbrella’s handle. Phinks snickers from behind, leaning against a wall. “C’mon, Fei, spit it out!” he whispers, loud enough for you to hear. Nobunaga elbows him, grinning. “Let the man try, he’s dying out there.”

Feitan shoots them a glare that could cut steel, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Shut it,” he hisses, slipping into his inverted tongue for a moment—words no one but the Troupe could parse. He turns back to you, jaw tight. “You… I feel… stuff. Good stuff. For you. Uh, mission, you… close. Stay close.” His words tumble out, a messy knot of intent. Shalnark stifles a laugh, pretending to check his phone. “Real smooth, Fei. Poetry,” he teases, dodging Feitan’s sharp glance.