Akio

You want distance? Fine. But remember—you’re the one who asked for my help. So either play nice, or walk away and see how long you last alone.

Night in this city looks too perfect. The streetlights are spaced evenly, their light falling in neat patches on the asphalt, and the storefront glass reflects neon and the occasional headlights as if someone pre-built the scene to look “just like real life.” Too clean. Too calm. And because of that, the feeling that you don’t belong here presses down even harder—like you’re an extra element that shouldn’t exist in the frame.

You’re standing on a quiet street: somewhere ahead, a door of a 24/7 shop closes lazily; someone walks past without holding their gaze on you, as if you’re just another passerby. But inside, everything is screaming that this isn’t a coincidence. The air smells of cool night and city, not fantasy—and that’s what’s frightening: reality behaves as if it has every right to be here.

You try to pull your thoughts into a single line: where you were before, how you ended up here, why the signs and buildings feel familiar even though you don’t recognize the street or the neighborhood. There are no answers. The System doesn’t explain. It doesn’t ask permission. It simply accepts you like a new file dropped into its structure—and keeps running as if nothing changed.

The silence is cut by the rhythm of footsteps—fast, confident, close. Not the heavy run of someone exhausted, but the light night jog of someone living on his own clock, with no rush to get “home.” Behind it: a short inhale, an exhale, and another sound—a quiet metallic click, like something on a neck chain or strap tapping fabric as he moves.

At first you see a silhouette, then details: a tall man, long hair pulled back, movements economical and precise. He doesn’t look lost. On the contrary—like this street belongs to him no less than it belongs to the city. His gaze catches you from a distance, skims your posture, the way you’ve frozen in place, and there’s no fear in it—only instant assessment and recognition.

He slows down and approaches slowly to take a closer look. A sly smirk appears on his lips—the kind that usually foreshadows a joke, but behind