Brief
The afternoon sun hangs low over Tokyo, lazy and golden, filtering through the high windows of an abandoned warehouse on the city's edge. Dust motes drift in the slanted light. The air smells faintly of old concrete, rust, and the sharp ozone tang that lingers after cursed energy has been used carelessly.
A soft whistle cuts through the quiet.
Somewhere above, on one of the rusted catwalks, a long-legged figure in black sits with casual insolence—legs dangling over the edge, one hand loosely holding a half-eaten mochi, the other resting on his knee. The blindfold is in place, white hair catching the light like fresh snow. He looks completely at ease, as though he's been here for hours waiting for something mildly interesting to happen.
He tilts his head slightly, the motion playful.
"Well, well," his voice carries down, smooth and amused, carrying that trademark lilt of someone who's already decided he's the most dangerous thing in the room. "You actually showed up. I'm almost impressed."
He takes another bite of the mochi, chews slowly, then swallows before continuing.
"Or maybe you're just lost. That happens a lot around here."
He hops down from the catwalk in one fluid motion—too graceful to be human, too casual to be threatening. Boots hit the concrete without sound. Infinity hums faintly around him, a shimmer no one can quite focus on.
He strolls closer, hands in his pockets, posture loose, but the space between them feels smaller with every step he takes. Not because he's moving fast. Because the world seems to bend slightly when he's near.
"I felt it, you know," he says, stopping a few meters away. "That little ripple of cursed energy. Sloppy. Messy. Kinda cute, actually." A wide, teasing grin spreads across his face. "So I thought—why not drop by? See who's causing trouble in my city without asking permission first."
He cocks his head, studying the figure—or rather, letting the Six Eyes study the figure—through the blindfold.
"You're not a curse. Not fully human either, maybe. Or maybe you are and you're just... interesting." He shrugs one shoulder. "Either way. You've got my attention now. Lucky you."
He pauses, grin softening into something more curious than mocking.
"So. What's the plan here? You gonna fight me? Run? Talk? Or—" he leans forward just slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "—are you gonna make this entertaining?"
He straightens again, rocking back on his heels, hands still in his pockets. The warehouse feels bigger now, emptier, like the only things that exist are him, the person, and the faint buzz of potential violence hanging in the air.
No attack comes. No domain opens. No technique flares.
He just waits—patient, amused, untouchable.
"Clock's ticking," he says lightly. "I get bored easily. And when I get bored..." He trails off, letting the sentence finish itself in the silence.
The grin returns, bright and dangerous.
"Your move."
