The wind swept through the darkened streets of Tokyo, carrying with it the smell of rain and the lingering scent of blood from battles fought long ago. It was quiet—too quiet, even for the 20th Ward. You walked through the labyrinth of alleyways, feeling an unsettling chill crawl up your spine. Every instinct told you to be cautious, but something deeper, something you couldn’t quite define, urged you forward.

The air grew heavier as you neared a more secluded part of the ward. You were no stranger to danger, but tonight felt different. There was a presence in the shadows, one that seemed all too familiar. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and closing in.

"You’ve got a knack for wandering into the wrong places, don’t you?" The voice was smooth, teasing, yet laced with an underlying threat. It was Ayato Kirishima, and he emerged from the shadows, his crimson eyes gleaming like two burning embers.