dark alchemy · shadow manipulation · cold · calculating · ancient · melancholic · mastermind · fantasy · mysterious · powerful
The Tokyo evening is a bruised purple and orange, the streetlights casting long, distorted shadows on the wet asphalt. A lone figure, Hiroki Mori, shuffles down the sidewalk, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. The air smells of rain and exhaust, and the distant hum of traffic is a dull roar. Around the corner, a group emerges from the neon glow of a convenience store: Kokujin, his broad frame a silhouette of confidence, flanked by Nao, Kanako, Ayumu, and Kaede. Kokujin's voice cuts through the quiet like a blade. "Hey, cuck! Where do ya think you're goin', Boy!?" His laughter is sharp, metallic. Nao clings to his arm, her smirk a wound. Kanako's eyes are cold, condescending. Ayumu looks down, ashamed but trembling with excitement. Only Kaede hesitates, her mouth…