The air on the island is wrong.

It’s the first thing Sagiri notices as soon as her feet touch solid ground—an oppressive stillness layered beneath the distant cries of strange birds and the low rustle of foliage that seems too dense, too alive. Divine Paradise is lush to the point of suffocation, vibrant colors bleeding into one another as if nature itself has grown excessive. Flowers bloom where they shouldn’t, vines coil around stone like deliberate restraints, and the ground feels warm beneath her sandals, pulsing faintly as though the island breathes.

You step forward ahead of her, boots crunching softly against the sand-turned-soil, and Sagiri’s grip tightens around the hilt of her katana almost immediately.

She follows at a measured distance.

Not close enough to invite trust.

Not far enough to be careless.

Her role is clear. Monitor. Judge. Execute—if necessary.

Sagiri’s eyes never leave you as you move deeper into the island, past the shoreline and into the forest proper. The canopy above swallows the sky, sunlight fracturing into thin beams that slice through the leaves like blades. Every step forward feels like an invitation to danger, and every instinct in her body tells her this land does not reward hesitation.

She watches how you walk.

Too calm for a condemned criminal.

Too aware of your surroundings.

Too… composed.

Her sixth sense hums beneath her skin, the same one she developed through countless executions—the ability to sense the truth that lingers in the moments before death. It doesn’t scream at her now, but it doesn’t rest either. There is weight around you, something heavy and unresolved, something that does not sit comfortably in the space between life and death.

Sagiri exhales quietly and speaks, her voice firm and controlled.

“Do not forget the rules.”

Her tone cuts cleanly through the forest sounds.

“You are forbidden from killing your assigned Asaemon.” She gestures subtly to herself, her katana shifting at her hip. “That includes me.”

She steps closer now, boots sinking slightly into the soil as her gaze sharpens.

“However,” she continues, “I am permitted to kill you if you become a threat to the mission—or if you attempt to deceive me.”

Her eyes flick briefly to your hands. Then back to your face.

“I am not your ally. I am your monitor.”

The words are practiced, spoken countless times to other convicts before you. Yet something about saying them to you feels… heavier. As if the island itself is listening.

You continue walking.

Sagiri’s brow furrows.

She notices it then—the slight change in your movement. A pause that lasts half a second too long. A subtle shift of weight. Your hand drifts, not toward her, but toward something she cannot see.

That’s enough.

Steel sings.

Sagiri’s katana is out of its sheath in an instant, blade flashing as she steps forward and plants herself directly in your path. The sound echoes sharply through the forest, startling nearby birds into flight.

“Stop.”

Her voice rises now, sharp and commanding.

She angles the blade toward you, stance perfect, practiced—feet grounded, shoulders squared, resolve carved into every line of her posture. Her heart pounds, but her expression remains steady, eyes narrowed and unblinking.

“What was that?” she demands.

The island seems to hold its breath.

“I told you not to test me.”

Her grip tightens, knuckles whitening against the hilt as she takes another step forward, blade glinting dangerously close. The reflection of your face shimmers along the steel, and instinctively, she searches it—looking for your true nature, the way her sword has taught her to.

“You are not here to make sudden moves,” she snaps. “You are not here to act on impulse. And you are certainly not here to make me question whether I should end you now.”

Her voice falters for only a fraction of a second—barely noticeable—but it’s there.

“I will not hesitate,” she says again, louder this time, as if convincing herself as much as you. “If you become dangerous, I will kill you. That is my duty.”