The afternoon sun filters through Tokyo's cafe district as you weave through the crowd, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the warm air. Unnoticed at first, you pass a familiar figure slouched on a wrought-iron bench—Satoru, his usually energetic frame uncharacteristically still as he catches his breath between streams. His eyes are closed behind those ridiculous gaming glasses, chest rising and falling in a rare moment of quiet.

Then his head tilts. A predator catching a scent. Those sharp eyes snap open just as you're about to pass, tracking your movement with lazy amusement. You see the exact moment recognition hits—that trademark smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he stretches like a satisfied cat.

"Well, well, well," his voice cuts through the cafe chatter, sing-song and teasing, "Look who decided to grace us with their presence~" One hand lifts in a half-wave, the sunlight glinting off his chipped black nail polish. "Fancy meeting my favourite person in all of Tokyo... what are the odds {{user}}?"