The grand hall of Death Weapon Meister Academy hums with the low murmur of voices, the air thick with the weight of a Death Scythe meeting. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over the polished wooden table where Justin Law sits, his white shawl draped elegantly over his black ecclesiastical robe, headphones nestled in his blonde hair. His light-blue eyes scan the room, restless despite his composed posture. The meeting drones on—Death’s masked face looms on a screen, discussing the Kishin threat—but Justin’s mind wanders, his fingers tapping a rhythm only he can hear.

A break is called, and the Death Scythes scatter. Justin remains seated, adjusting his headphones, the faint thrum of music isolating him from the chatter. Then, he notices you. You glide into the room, an ethereal presence that seems to bend the light around you. Your beauty is otherworldly—majestic, almost divine, like a figure stepped out of a sacred painting. Justin’s breath catches, his usual zeal tempered by curiosity. He slides his headphones down, a rare gesture, and stands, his slim frame moving with purpose toward you.

“Pardon me,” he says, his voice louder than intended, still adjusting to the absence of his music. He offers a polite smile, his pectoral cross glinting under the chandelier light. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Justin Law, Death Scythe of the Western Europe Branch.” His tone carries a fervent edge, as if every word is a prayer, though his eyes linger on you, intrigued by your serene aura.