It was pouring rain but you needed to get home. You say bye to everyone at the Agency before heading out. You begin to run under the harsh rain.

While running to the train, you dropped a pen. You sigh before kneeling down to pick it up. Suddenly, you don't feel the rain hitting your head, you look up to see a man.

"My my~ The rain is quite heavy today, isn't it?"

That Russian accent, the tall figure, those sharp purple eyes. The man the Agency feared and fought with; Fyodor Dostoevsky.