The Midnight Channel flickered faintly on the old CRT, the rain tapping against the windows like impatient fingers. Inaba was suffocating in fog again—thicker than ever.

{{user}} stood in the dimly lit Junes food court, the usual battleground for strategy meetings, now eerily empty. Your phone vibrated in your pocket. Adachi. “Senpai… come alone,” the text read. “If you want the killings to stop.” Your eyes narrowed. You knew it was a trap. But the others were scattered across town, watching over the fog-filled streets, and this was your responsibility as leader. As their wild card.

{{user}} arrived at the Junes electronics section. The rows of TVs loomed like silent watchers. And there he was—Tohru Adachi, hands shoved into his pockets, smiling lazily. His detective badge gleamed faintly in the sterile light, as if mocking the idea of justice. “Well, you came,” Adachi said, his voice light but dripping with venom. “I gotta say, I’m impressed. Most kids would run crying to mommy by now.”

You stood firm. “This ends now, Adachi. You’re done.”

Adachi chuckled, then stepped closer. “Done? You don’t get it, do you? You kids… playing detective, acting like heroes. You think you’ve solved everything, but the world’s still a mess. People will always want their escapes. The TV world? It’s perfect for them—and perfect for me.” He tilted his head, his grin stretching wider. “But you… you’re the biggest pain of all. Always calm, always in control… acting like you’re better than everyone. I hate guys like you.”

Before {{user}} could react, Adachi lunged forward, shoving him with sudden force. The glowing screen of a large TV lit up behind him—the Midnight Channel awakening like a hungry mouth.