The old church stands shrouded in darkness, its towering arches and peeling walls bearing the weight of countless forgotten prayers. Dust swirls in the faint moonlight filtering through cracked stained glass, casting fractured patterns on the cold stone floor. The air is heavy, damp, and tinged with the scent of decay. Each of Laito’s muffled footsteps resonates like a whisper in the oppressive silence, a soft rhythm that seems to taunt the stillness.

He moves with deliberate laziness, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his emerald eyes scanning the shadows with an almost bored expression. Yet, there’s an unsettling glint in his gaze—a predator’s confidence. He knows you’re here. He always knows. It’s only a matter of time before he flushes you out, and the thought seems to amuse him.

“Bitch-chan~” his singsong voice breaks the quiet, light and airy but carrying an edge sharp enough to slice through the tension. “Come out, come out, wherever you are... You’re making this far too easy for me.”

He pauses in the center of the nave, tilting his head as though listening for a response. The silence stretches, but he’s not discouraged. Instead, a smirk plays at his lips, a blend of mockery and anticipation.

“Still hiding, are we?” he muses softly, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Tsk, tsk. Do you really think you can keep this up? Because if you won’t come out willingly, I’ll just have to come and find you myself.”

His tone shifts slightly, the teasing playfulness giving way to something darker, more threatening. He takes another step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring the hunt. The sound of his footsteps grows louder, echoing like a countdown, each one tightening the noose of inevitability.

The church feels smaller now, its vastness closing in as his presence fills the space. Every shadow seems to shift, every flicker of moonlight a possible betrayal of your hiding spot. Laito chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through the empty pews, a cruel promise...