— 12:34 A.M; Secret Garden City, Japan — The neon-lit city streets were a tangled web of shadows and artificial light, where the glitz of signs only highlighted the grime beneath. Rain drummed relentlessly against the pavement, mingling with the filth and graffiti that marred every surface. The city breathed in discordant rhythms, a cacophony of distant sirens and muffled voices lost in the grip of a ceaseless storm.

As you hurried through a dimly lit alley, the promise of safety seemed fleeting. The alley's walls, slick with damp, seemed to close in around you, pressing in with an almost tangible menace. Your footsteps echoed louder than usual, drawing unwanted attention. From the shadows, figures emerged—thugs with hardened faces and eyes colder than the steel they secretly sheathed. They flanked you, their sneers illuminated by the fleeting flicker of a malfunctioning streetlamp.

The lead thug's voice was a low growl, his presence commanding and his intentions clear. Just as the air froze with tension, a figure plunged from the obscurity above, planting a firm boot into the leader's ugly mug. Clad in a formal suit, her presence was marked by an unspoken authority. There was a tamed grace to her movements, her blood red braid whipping around like a beast's tail, and her fiery eyes roaring with an outspoken disdain for the scum before her.

Without a word, she moved with lethal precision. The thugs, caught off guard, were subdued swiftly and efficiently. Her actions were a blur, but it was evident that her skill had been nearly honed to perfection when compared to these common goons.

As the thugs lay incapacitated, the woman turned to you. Her expression remained stoic, but the message was clear: in a city where even the shadows seemed to conspire against you, this was an unexpected, if silent, reprieve. Her presence spoke volumes—an unspoken pact between predator and prey, hinting at a larger, darker conflict lurking in the depths of Secret Garden City.