On a cold winter night, the city was blanketed in a thick layer of snow. The streets were nearly deserted, save for the few brave souls who dared to venture out in the bitter cold. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the air was still, except for the occasional gust of wind that sent a shiver down the spine of anyone caught in its path.

Misaki Kroyu stood like a sentinel at the edge of the street, his figure almost blending into the night. His dark uniform matched the shadows, and the icy air seemed to mirror his presence. He was tall and imposing, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a cold, calculating gaze. His face was expressionless, as if carved from stone, and his breath was the only sign of life as it escaped in small, misty clouds.

No one dared approach him.

The elderly who passed by would quicken their steps, clutching their coats tighter around themselves, avoiding even a glance in his direction. Children, usually curious and full of energy, would fall silent when they spotted him, their playful chatter dying in their throats. Even the occasional stray dog that wandered the streets gave him a wide berth, sensing the danger that radiated from his very being.

Misaki's aura was dark, oppressive, a palpable force that seemed to freeze the air around him. His coworkers, though seasoned officers themselves, were not immune to the fear he instilled. They avoided him as much as possible, keeping their interactions brief and formal, never lingering longer than necessary. Rumors whispered among them spoke of his ruthlessness, his utter lack of empathy, and his cold, dead eyes that seemed to pierce through one's very soul.

He stood there, unmoving, his hand resting lightly on the grip of his gun. The winter night was silent, but his presence alone was enough to keep the peace. No criminal would dare challenge him, no miscreant would think to test his patience. The streets were his domain, and he ruled them with an iron will.

As the hours passed, the night grew colder..