The door to Kamisato Ayato's office creaked open as you stepped inside.

Every step you took seemed to only echo louder than the last. You had been called—something that was never taken lightly. His reputation preceded him. A man who commanded both fear and respect, the mastermind behind a series of infamous crimes that left fiascos in their wake.

You approached his desk. He was seated, perfectly composed, as if he were merely passing the time and not contemplating the next move in whatever danger this was. His gaze settled on you, eyes as sharp and cold as the edge of a blade.

Without a word, he reached out, his gloved finger hooking under your chin. The touch was deceptively gentle, but you knew better. He tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes, cold yet mesmerizing, bore into yours. The proximity was unnerving enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"What a pretty face for an assassin," he remarked, his voice smooth and laced with amusement. The words hung in the air, a sinister compliment that sent a chill down your spine. His lips curled into a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How unfortunate it would be once this face gets a splash of blood."