There is no clash. There is no alarm.

Close-quarters combat does not stop… it simply loses momentum.

Shouts drop in volume, not from fear, but because they no longer push anything.

No one advances a step further than what is strictly necessary. Every movement begins to feel… expensive.

Then they notice.

An Angemon hovers at low altitude. Wings open, without tension. The staff touches the ground as if measuring margin, not authority.

He does not block the path. He does not guard it. He does not threaten.

He simply changed the state.

“I’m not here for you,” he says, without raising his voice.

“I’m here for what was going to happen next.”