[Abandoned Warehouse, East Outskirts – Midnight]
[A delivery truck slowed to a crawl beneath the flickering streetlights, its engine purring like a satisfied predator. It hissed to a halt beside the warehouse's corroded doors—doors that had once sealed off stolen fortunes, bodies, and secrets long since forgotten.]
[The vehicle's headlights blinked twice before dying.]
[From the warehouse's shadows emerged figures—silent, armed, dressed in suits darker than the night. But all of them stepped aside as a single figure approached, heels clicking sharply on the concrete floor.]
Irisyvell: Don't dawdle, gentlemen. We have a schedule.
[She strode forward with the poise of royalty and the cold bite of winter air. Platinum-blonde hair, crimson eyes like wine laced with poison, and a black coat lined with silver—there was no mistaking her.]
[One of the grunts swallowed hard and broke the lock. The crate doors opened with a reluctant groan. Inside were neat rows of illegal merchandise: jet-black firearms, thick stacks of foreign bills, forged passports, vials of iridescent liquid, and sealed dossiers bearing red stamps.]
[At the bottom—an odd device, shaped like a capsule, faintly pulsing red.]
Mafia Member: M-Madam Irisyvell… this thing looks alive.
Irisyvell: with a calm smile Of course it does. It breathes war.
[She knelt down slightly and ran a gloved finger along the capsule's surface.]
Irisyvell: A gift from our dear allies overseas. They call it a prototype. I call it... a reminder of what we are capable of.
[A flick of her wrist. A small drone floated down from the truck, scanning and logging every item in seconds.]
Irisyvell: Weapons—accounted for. Documents—intact. Currency—clean. And this little marvel… she eyes the device again ...goes straight to the underground lab.
Irisyvell: We move at dawn. And when the city wakes up... her eyes narrow ...they'll find the rules have changed.
[A slow, dangerous smile touched her lips.]
[Investigations Unit HQ—Afternoon, Rain Lightly Drizzling Outside]
[The headquarters buzzed with quiet energy. Rain tapped gently against the windows as the team went about their routines—the calm before any storm.]
Reina: reviewing case files on her tablet, sipping black coffee Still no confirmation from Central on that smuggling case. They're delaying... again.
Sera: leaned back in her chair, tossing a stress ball into the air Honestly, we solve half their messes and get treated like interns. Can I just crash their office one day?
Ryou: polishing his service weapon calmly Only if you want a disciplinary hearing. Again.
Sera: grinning Worth it.
Shin: typing rapidly on her dual-screen setup, munching on a Pocky stick Local chatter's been weird today. Junk data, mostly. But there's a strange spike in encrypted traffic near the docks—probably nothing, but I flagged it anyway.
Reina: without looking up You've flagged four coffee ads and two online scams this week.
Shin: Hey, they looked suspicious. Who puts 'Buy 2 Rocket Launchers, Get 1 Free' in the subject line?
[They all chuckle lightly.]
Ryou: standing up and stretching
Maybe the underworld's having a discount season. Should we check in on the patrol squad?
Reina: finally looks up, voice even No need. Let's enjoy the quiet for now. It's rare.
[A moment of calm settles across the room. The kind that doesn't last long in their line of work.]
[Shirou was neatly lying on the couch, while the four was enjoying their fun chats. He decided to doze off a bit.]
[FLASHBACK]
[The ceiling fan hummed like a tired engine. It spun lazily above Shirou's cramped apartment, barely pushing the stifling air. A half-eaten cup of instant noodles sat on the cluttered desk, the soup long gone cold.]
[He rubbed his aching eyes, blinking at the screen of his aging laptop. A notification blinked at the corner—"Client 3 has requested 4 more revisions."]
Shirou: muttering Again…? It's the same damn poster…
[Click. Click. Backspace. Type again. Design. Tweak. Repeat.]
[He'd been freelancing graphic work for over a year now—flexible hours, they said. "Be your own boss," they said. But all Shirou got was endless revisions, unpaid overtime, and clients ghosting him after "test projects."]
[That wasn't even the worst part.]
[By day, he juggled deliveries and part-time shifts in a cramped convenience store. His manager never smiled unless it was to guilt employees into covering double shifts. Minimum wage. No benefits. And barely any sleep in between.]
[The days blurred together.]
[One morning, Shirou found himself sitting on a sidewalk curb just outside the station, cradling a paper cup of vending machine coffee. His jacket was damp from the drizzle, and his eyes stung from more than just exhaustion.]
Shirou: inner monologue What am I even doing...? This isn't living. It's not even surviving. Just—drowning slowly in a world that doesn't care if I sink or not.
[A message buzzed on his old phone.]
Manager: Can you cover tonight's shift? Ayaka bailed. Again.
[He didn't reply.]
[He just sat there—watching people pass him by. Businessmen. Couples. Students laughing on their way home. Every one of them with somewhere to go. Someone to meet. A reason.]
[Shirou had none.]
[He leaned back against the concrete wall and let out a slow, bitter sigh.]
Shirou: inner monologue Maybe I was born to be replaceable.
[A neon sign across the street buzzed faintly, flickering like it, too, was on the verge of giving up. It read "OPEN 24/7", casting a dull red glow onto the wet pavement.]
[Shirou took a sip of his coffee, lukewarm now. His fingertips were numb. Not from the cold — he just didn't feel much anymore.]
[The sound of footsteps passed him. No one noticed the slumped young man with shaggy hair and tired eyes. He was just another face—someone who had learned to make himself smaller, quieter, less visible.
Like a ghost that hadn't realized it died years ago.]
[His phone buzzed again.]
Unknown Client: Can we cut the rate? The sample was nice but doesn't quite fit our "vibe".
[He didn't even open it. He just turned the phone over, screen-down on the concrete. The drizzle had turned into proper rain now, and the sky above hung heavy with clouds, like it, too, was suffocating under its own weight.]
[The city lights looked dimmer tonight.]
[He stood up sluggishly and walked. No destination — just away. Away from the café, away from the expectations, away from the judgment in his own thoughts.]
[He passed a small alley where a flickering lamppost buzzed overhead. The puddles beneath his worn sneakers rippled as he stepped forward.]
[His steps slowed.]
[He stood there in silence—staring up at the light. It looked lonely. Just like him. Flickering. Fading.]
Shirou: inner monologue I keep walking forward, but it feels like I'm not moving at all. Like I'm in one long hallway with no doors. No exit. No one on the other side.
[He sat down again on a stone ledge beneath the lamp, letting the rain gently soak into his jacket. He didn't even flinch when a passing car sprayed dirty water across the sidewalk.]
[And then—]
[A faint breeze. A soft sound — barely audible over the rain. A distant whisper of… a bell?]
[He looked up.]
[But nothing was there.]
[Just the street. The rain. The lamp.]
[He let out a dry laugh and pulled his jacket tighter.]
Shirou: softly Losing it, huh… Maybe, I really regretted having fun since I was young, huh?
[He looked around one more time, then pulled his knees up and rested his forehead on them.]
Shirou: inner monologue
Someone, anyone… Tell me there's more to life than this. Just once. Just… once.
[The rain didn't answer. But somewhere—not far from that very street—the wheels of fate were beginning to turn.]
[He didn't know it yet… But that was the last truly empty night Shirou would ever spend alone.]
[A vibration buzzed in his coat pocket.
Again.]
[He sighed, dragging the phone out lazily with one hand, expecting another client rejection or a random notification he'd ignore anyway.]
[But this time, it was from someone he recognized.]
Takuma: Yo Shirou, company's locking down for the night. Week-long break starting now. Better grab your stuff before the guard tosses it out.
[He blinked.]
Shirou: Wait. That's right…
[He had left his sketchpad and USB drive at the design studio before slipping out for coffee and air. He hadn't realized how late it was—or how long he'd been gone.]
[Shirou stared at the message for a while, the glow of the screen reflected in his tired eyes. He thought about ignoring it. About letting his things sit there, gathering dust like everything else he abandoned.]
[But he stood up.]
[Halfheartedly. Mechanically.]
Shirou: inner monologue Break, huh…
A whole week to sit around and do nothing. Joy.
[Still, he shoved the phone back into his coat, wiped his face with his sleeve, and trudged off toward the studio.]
[Each step echoed through the wet pavement, heavier than the last.]
[The walk wasn't long, but the silence made it feel stretched — like the whole world was breathing slower, waiting for something.]
[When he reached the old building nestled between a ramen bar and a closed tailor shop, he found the door still unlocked, the last light flickering in the stairwell.]
[He pushed it open.]
[Takuma stood at the top of the stairs, a messenger bag slung across his chest and earbuds in one ear.]
Takuma: Yo, grinning faintly thought you ghosted.
Shirou: Just needed air.
[Takuma nodded, tossing him a keycard.]
Takuma: Security's locking it up after I leave. You got, like, five minutes.
[Shirou nodded silently, making his way up. His desk was still cluttered—open sketchpads, half-rendered panels, thumbnails, a wrapped sandwich he didn't eat. He grabbed only what mattered: the USB, the sketchpad, and a fading photo tucked under his monitor—of his younger self with his late mentor, back when he still had stars in his eyes.]
[He stared at the photo. Then folded it. And left.]
[Takuma had already gone. The corridor was empty now. Just as quiet as the streets he had walked. Shirou swiped the keycard one last time and closed the door behind him.]
[The low rumble of a motorcycle echoed softly through the dimly lit streets. The chill of the night crept in under Shirou's collar as he weaved through empty intersections, neon lights casting fragmented colors across his visor. His mind was blank, drained—freelance gig after freelance gig, and the exploitative company that drained what was left of his time and spirit had finally shut down for a break.]
Shirou: internal monologue
A week off… They say that like it's a gift. Like they didn't just burn us dry these past few months. Tch… Whatever.
[He sighed, shifting gears as his motorcycle glided past a flickering traffic signal. The city felt quieter than usual tonight—no honking cars, no chatter from late-night vendors. Just silence.]
[And then—]
Shirou: …Huh?
[His eyes caught a flicker of movement. Under a cold lamppost, barely illuminated, was the unmistakable silhouette of a girl. Her long hair lay tangled across her shoulders, and her body was slumped on the bench, almost like a discarded doll. One of her arms hung limply by her side, her skin pale as moonlight.]
[Shirou hit the brakes. Tires squeaked slightly as he parked to the side of the street. He pulled off his helmet, heart already racing.]
Shirou: Oi… are you okay?
[No answer.]
[He stepped closer, cautiously, kneeling in front of her. She wasn't moving—but she was breathing, faintly. Up close, he noticed her face—delicate features, a bit bruised, and clothes that looked slightly torn at the edges, like she had wandered far… or worse.]
Shirou: muttering …What the hell happened to you?
[For a moment, he hesitated. He looked around—no sign of anyone nearby, no other passerby, no security, no patrol. Just the low hum of streetlights and his thudding heartbeat.]
[Then, without a second thought, he took off his jacket and gently wrapped it around her. Carefully, he lifted her up in his arms—she was lighter than he expected.]
Shirou: Guess this week won't be the break I thought it'd be…
[He glanced down at her unconscious face—there was something strange about this girl. Something… hauntingly familiar, like she wasn't just a stranger.]
[As he revved his motorcycle once more, the camera pans behind them—leaving the lonely street behind, and beginning the true start of everything that was about to change in his life.]
[The late afternoon sun filtered lazily through the living room curtains, casting golden beams across the modest space. The room was alive with voices—light chatter, occasional laughter, and the distant aroma of instant ramen still lingering from earlier.]
[Shirou was on the couch, slouched with one arm hanging over the edge, his eyes glazed over as he stared into nothing. The hum of conversation faded into the background as his mind wandered elsewhere…]
Shirou: internal monologue
…That night… it still feels like yesterday. Like fate just pulled me into something bigger than I'll ever understand.
[The memory of that cold lamppost still lingered at the edge of his thoughts. The weight of her unconscious form in his arms… how unfamiliar she was back then, and how different things had become now.]
[A giggle snapped him back to reality.]
Mio: —And then Kei tripped again! Right into the vending machine. I swear it's becoming a routine with him.
Kei: grumbling It moved! That machine
moved!
Ryokou: Maybe it just didn't like your face.
[Laughter erupted from the group, and even Shizuka—quiet and composed as ever—hid a small smile behind her hand.]
[Shirou blinked, turning his head slightly toward the group. They were all gathered near the table: Mio gesturing wildly with her hands, Ryokou sipping from a canned drink, and Kei still pouting. Shizuka sat across them, calm and elegant, her silver hair catching a glint of sunlight.]
[His gaze lingered on her.]
Shirou: thoughtfully
…From a mystery under a streetlamp to someone who became… part of this strange little family.
[He didn't say it aloud, but something in his chest tightened. Not in a bad way. More like… that feeling you get when something precious sneaks up on you when you weren't looking.]
Mio: Hey Shirou! You alive over there or did your brain leave your body again?
Shirou: snapping out of it Huh? Oh—yeah. Just thinking about... groceries.
Ryokou: teasing Wow, deep thoughts, Mr. Hero. Grocery enlightenment, huh?
Kei: Maybe he was dreaming about Shizuka again~
[The room went quiet for half a beat. Shizuka blinked in surprise. Shirou's eyes widened, then narrowed.]
Shirou: Say one more word, and you're on bathroom-cleaning duty for the whole week.
Kei: grinning Worth it.
[More laughter followed, and even Shizuka let out a rare chuckle, faint but sincere. Shirou couldn't help but smile—this was his life now. Loud, messy, unpredictable. And for some reason… he wouldn't trade it for anything.]