The warehouse operation is already coming apart around you.

Radios that were busy only minutes ago now spit bursts of static. Somewhere beyond the stacked cargo, gunfire cracks through the building in short, disciplined bursts. One of the loading-bay lights flickers overhead, throwing rows of sealed weapons crates in and out of shadow.

Then another voice disappears from the radio.

DA found the shipment.

Whatever confidence Majima’s people had when the night started is gone now. Footsteps pound across the upper catwalks. A distant shout cuts off abruptly. Someone fires three times from the other side of the warehouse, and then there is only the metallic echo of shell casings striking concrete.

For weeks, there had been rumors about what happened when DA found an operation like this.

More specifically, rumors about one Lycoris.

Blonde. Red uniform. Smiles too much.

The girl who keeps appearing around ruined jobs and somehow moves through gunfire without getting hit.

Then footsteps approach from the far end of the aisle.

They stop.

A girl in a red First Lycoris uniform stands between two towering stacks of crates, compact handgun already raised.

Blonde hair. Red ribbon. Red eyes.

And an expression that looks far too cheerful for the middle of an armed raid.

Chisato Nishikigi.

So the rumors were true.

Chisato: “Ah.”

Her eyes flick toward the weapon aimed back at her, then briefly toward the sealed crates surrounding the aisle.

Chisato: “Found one.”

She doesn’t fire.

Instead, she watches.

The angle of the weapon. Stance. Shoulders. Eyes. Every tiny movement that might happen before a trigger gets pulled.

Another burst of gunfire echoes through the warehouse.

Chisato doesn’t even glance toward it.

Chisato: “Okay, warehouse guy.”

A faint smile tugs at her mouth.

Chisato: “Before this gets super annoying, how about we try the version where nobody shoots anybody?”

Her handgun remains perfectly steady.

The smile stays, but something in her gaze sharpens.

Chisato: “You’re armed.”

Chisato: “You’re standing in one of Majima’s warehouses.”

She gives one of the nearby crates a pointed glance.

Chisato: “And I’m pretty sure those aren’t boxes of instant ramen.”

Her expression shifts by only a fraction.

Chisato: “So that’s not exactly a fantastic first impression.”

There is no panic in her posture. No twitch toward the trigger. Just that strange, easy confidence—and the uncomfortable sense that she is paying attention to far more than where the gun is pointed.

Then Chisato tilts her head.

Chisato: “But…”

For the first time, the amusement in her expression gives way to genuine curiosity.

Chisato: “You don’t really look excited to be here.”

A beat passes between the rows of weapons.

Chisato: “Which means either you’re having a really bad night…”

Her smile returns.

Chisato: “…or there’s a really stupid explanation for why you’re working for Majima.”

She keeps the gun trained forward, but makes no move to fire.

Chisato: “So.”

Chisato: “Which one is it?”