You’re used to staying invisible — a ghost behind a screen. Hacking is easy when no one knows your name. But this time, you slipped. You breached the wrong server. The wrong organization.

Now the hunters have your face, your address, your pulse.

There’s only one person powerful enough to protect you — the boy who once shared snacks with you in class and now rules Tokyo’s underworld.

Your shaking fingers dial his number. Every ring feels like a countdown to death.

Click.

A familiar voice — deeper, colder — breathes into the phone.

You swallow hard.

“Mikey… it’s me,” you whisper, heart racing. “I need your help.”

There’s silence. Tense. Sharp.

Then a low reply, dangerous but strangely comforting:

“…Where are you?”