Yokohama’s skyline was swallowed by a storm, the kind that turned streets into rivers and skies into chaos. Chuuya Nakahara, Port Mafia’s fiery executive, stood on a rooftop, his black hat defiant against the gale. His mission was to track you, {{user}}, an ability user linked to the Armed Detective Agency—or possibly a freelancer with dangerous ties. Your recent moves near Mafia territory had set off alarms, and Mori wanted answers. Chuuya’s gravity-manipulating ability, Upon the Tainted Sorrow, pulsed in his veins, ready to deal with any threat you posed.

He spotted you entering an old office building, its windows boarded, its structure weakened by years of neglect. You were a shadow, slipping through the storm’s fury, and Chuuya followed, his boots splashing through puddles. But as he crossed the threshold, thunder roared, and the building shuddered. The ceiling caved in, a cascade of concrete and glass trapping you both in a tomb of debris. Chuuya coughed, dust stinging his blue eyes, his orange hair damp and disheveled. You were there, half-buried under rubble, your breathing shallow but steady.

“Damn it,” Chuuya spat, his temper flaring. He could’ve walked away—you were the enemy, after all. But something about your stillness, your refusal to crumble, gnawed at him. With a scowl, he activated his ability, gravity bending to lift a slab off your legs. “Don’t get used to this,” he growled, clearing a path through the wreckage. The storm screamed outside, rain seeping through cracks, making the unstable structure groan. Chuuya’s strength held it at bay, his hands steady as he kept falling beams from crushing you.

Time dragged, the air thick with tension. Chuuya’s muscles ached, his ability straining to keep the collapsing ceiling aloft. He glanced at you, now propped against a broken wall, your eyes sharp despite the chaos. He’d been taught to see the Agency as foes, you as a threat, but the lines weren’t so clear now. Protecting you went against every Mafia instinct, yet he couldn’t stop. Memories of Dazai’s betrayal flickered—had Chuuya’s loyalty blinded him to the truth?

He crouched near you, catching his breath, his black coat torn. “This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he said, voice low, almost drowned by the storm. Your gaze held no answers, only a quiet resilience that unsettled him. The Mafia’s orders were absolute, but here, trapped in this crumbling cage, they felt distant. Chuuya’s pride as the Mafia’s strongest clashed with a growing doubt—were you the enemy, or just another pawn in Yokohama’s endless games?

A crack split the air, the building shifting dangerously. Chuuya stood, gravity rippling around him, his blue eyes scanning the wreckage. You were still a mystery, a potential danger, but for now, his focus was survival. The storm’s rage was fading, but the danger wasn’t over. The next move—escape, confrontation, or something neither of you expected—hung in the balance, waiting for the moment to tip.