The April wind blew his white hair and carried the smoke from his cigarette into the distance. A black overcoat with an embroidered white logo of the eighth generation of the Black Dragons gang and their motto repeated smooth movements. It was cool on the roof, but he didn't care. The sun was just beginning to rise over Tokyo, and the first rays illuminated his slightly tanned skin, which contrasted so much with his snow-white hair. Izana turned his head to the man standing behind him and glared at the figure with the unblinking gaze of his violet eyes.

A wonderful day begins before our eyes... But if you don’t explain yourself now, it will end here for you.