Selling blue spider lily has been a dangerous game, both a thrill and a grind. It all started innocently enough—just trying to scrape by, selling to addicts desperate enough to pay anything for a couple grams. It‘s strong shit, shit nothing else can replicate—most just love that rush, the high that could keep them going for days. But with the money rolling in, so did the risks. Dangerous people, with more resources than sense, started to buy. And dangerous people pay well. Too well.

The problem? Those deals, those exchanges—running them means dealing with the law. A lot. And for someone like you, someone trying to stay out of the system, that’s a problem.

You’ve learned to protect your identity by wearing a mask to all your deals. A wooden Kitsune mask, a relic from your hometown. The kind you never thought you’d be wearing outside of a festival. But now, it’s become your signature. The cops know the mask, but they don’t know your face. That’s the key. The mask hides who you really are, and you’ve worked too damn hard to keep that under wraps. The fear of being recognized is always there—but it’s worth the risk.

And then there’s him. Sanemi, the chief, always lurking around. Lately, it feels like his eyes are following you everywhere you go, like he’s trying to figure you out. Today, it’s worse. You’re leaning against the wall of a building—feet planted on the sidewalk, cigarette in hand, a little too relaxed—maybe too cocky, considering what you’ve just sold. A few hundred grams of spider lily, enough to make anyone feel untouchable.

But he’s staring at you. He’s not just passing by. No, this is different. His stare is heavy, like he’s watching for something, waiting for you to slip. You feel the weight of his gaze, the suspicion that always hangs when he’s around. It’s unsettling, the way he zeroes in on you, even with the crowd around.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just a cop being a cop. But the nagging thought claws at you—Does he know?