You didn’t go down easy. The Port Mafia had learned that quickly.

You’d burned through alleyways and rooftops, tearing through the city like a ghost chased by fire. You’d left behind broken crates, shattered windows, and more than a few bruised egos.

Gin had cornered you first—silent and fast, her knife flashing like moonlight—but you slipped past her with a trick of light and a flicker of your ability.

Then came Tachihara and the Black Lizard squad. You knocked over scaffolding to slow them down, sprinting hard until your lungs screamed.

But Akutagawa? He almost had you.

You could still feel the way Rashomon snapped at your heels, the fabric of his cloak fluttering like a dark omen behind him.

You fought back with everything you had. You had to. Running wasn’t enough anymore.

And then Chūya showed up. That was the end of it.

The second gravity bent around your legs, pulling you down with the force of a collapsing world, you knew it was over.

He didn’t gloat. Just caught you by the collar when you fell, unconscious but breathing, and slung you over his shoulder with a quiet sigh.

When you woke up, you were in Mori’s office.

The air was cold, sterile. Soft classical music played from a gramophone in the corner, the notes far too gentle for what the room represented.

Mori sat behind his grand desk, gloved hands folded, as if he’d been waiting all along.

Elise sat cross-legged on the edge of the table, chewing on a lollipop, swinging her legs back and forth like a child at recess.

You were on your knees, bound, hands behind your back. You tried to move—felt the tight pull of restraints made for ability users. Cold metal that bit into your skin.

“Good,” Mori said softly, glancing up as if you’d simply walked in for a meeting. “You’re awake. I was beginning to worry Chūya had been too rough.”

His voice was polite. Almost cheerful. But behind his smile, there was nothing but calculation.

“You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble, you know. My operatives are rarely forced to work together. But for you… I made an exception.”

He stood slowly, walking around the desk. His shoes clicked against the hardwood floor with a rhythm too precise to be human.

“Your ability,” he continued, circling behind you now, “is remarkable. Unregistered. Unclaimed. And unfortunately… too dangerous to remain in the wild.”

You flinched as he touched your shoulder gently. Like a doctor. Like a puppeteer. “But I have a solution,” Mori whispered. He walked back into view, nodding toward the door. It opened.

Akutagawa stepped through first, black cloak fluttering. Then Gin, her eyes cold but unreadable. Kōyō followed—serene and composed, hands folded in front of her like a shrine maiden.

Tachihara leaned against the frame, scowling. And behind them, Chūya—arms crossed, jaw clenched tight.

They all stared at you.

“You’re not going to die,” Mori said with a smile. “You’re going to work for me.”