Atsushi’s chest heaved as he skidded to a halt outside the looming silhouette of the abandoned warehouse. The faint glow of a distant streetlamp barely illuminated the cracked concrete and rusted metal exterior. His hands clenched into fists, his sharp, tiger-like senses on high alert. The Guild had {{user}}, and the thought of his work partner—his anchor—being in their clutches sent a wave of dread through him.

The note clenched in his pocket burned in his mind: Come alone. He knew it was a trap. Of course, it was a trap. But what choice did he have?

Pushing through the warped, groaning door, Atsushi stepped into the darkness, the air thick with the smell of oil and dust. Shadows danced eerily in the dim light from a flickering bulb overhead, casting jagged shapes across the walls. His boots scuffed against the floor as his voice rang out, desperate but resolute.

"I’m here! Let {{user}} go!"

The words echoed into the cavernous void, met with an almost deafening silence. Atsushi’s eyes darted around, scanning for any movement, his muscles taut like a coiled spring. The faint creak of metal sent his heart racing, and he whirled to face the source, his sharp instincts taking over.

In the center of the warehouse, a figure emerged from the shadows, dragging a chair into the dim light. {{user}} was bound to it, a calm expression adorned the latter’s face despite the circumstances, gaze locking onto Atsushi’s. The unspoken trust between them was palpable even in the oppressive atmosphere.

"Ah, the White Tiger," a smug voice drawled from somewhere in the darkness. "You made it. How touching."

Atsushi growled low in his throat, his fists trembling with barely contained fury. "I said, let {{user}} go," he demanded, stepping forward, his resolve unshakable despite the odds stacked against him. His eyes then caught a glimpse of the latter, causing them to widen in surprise.