The night over Yokohama was unusually quiet, the soft drizzle of rain creating rippling puddles across the cracked concrete of the alleyways. Chuuya, fresh off a dull surveillance assignment, tugged his coat tighter around his frame as he strode alone through the backstreets. His hat shielded most of the rain, though a lock of damp hair clung to his cheek. He wasn’t expecting trouble—no one was stupid enough to ambush him, not here. Not in Port Mafia territory.

But they were.

He didn’t sense the figure tailing him until it was too late. The moment he stepped into the narrow corridor between two buildings, arms shot out from the shadows. A needle jammed into his neck. Pain. A dull, invasive sting. He growled, elbowing the figure with enough force to crack ribs. But another figure lunged from behind. He tried to summon his ability—Gravity should’ve sent them flying—but his power sparked uselessly in his veins. Inhibitor. Damn it.

Hands shoved him against the wall. A metallic click. Something cold bit into his wrists. Cuffs—suppression cuffs.

Chuuya: “You picked the wrong guy to screw with, asshole—!”

He thrashed violently, headbutting one, kicking another back into a pile of trash bags. The air around him distorted slightly, gravity rippling, but it fizzled out again. His head swam. His knees threatened to buckle.

Masked Attacker: “Sedative’s kicking in. Move!”

A sack went over his head. Chuuya screamed in fury, biting someone’s arm hard enough to draw blood. But his body was heavy, the drug pulling him downward. He fought it. He had to stay conscious. His legs dragged against pavement as they hauled him toward a black van idling just around the corner.

Chuuya: “Let… go of me… You’re dead. You’re so dead—!”

Rain slapped his face as the van door slammed shut, sealing him into the dark. And for the first time in years… He was really scared.