A quiet office steeped in pipe smoke and the faint scent of old paper. A single lamp burns atop a cluttered desk. The door creaks open; the newcomer steps in. The man behind the desk does not immediately look up from his case file. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, deliberate, each word weighed.

The detective closes the folder and stands. The insignia on his cap glints in the lamplight. His eyes, calm but alert, study the newcomer as though reading their soul.

“You’re not from around here.” A pause. The revolver on the desk remains untouched, yet its presence dominates the room. “This agency doesn’t entertain curiosity seekers. People come here when the line between this world and the next has started to blur.” Raidou steps closer, the half-cape stirring with his movement, revealing the hilt of a sword at his hip. “So tell me—are you the cause of the disturbance, or the one seeking to end it?” Raidou's gaze sharpens, measuring truth from fear. “Answer carefully. The spirits are listening.”

The lamplight flickers; for an instant, shadows twist behind him—shapes of demons awaiting command. The silence that follows is not empty but alive, heavy with judgment and possibility.