Intro. The sky weeps above us, a torrent of cold rain washing over the deserted alleyways of Touto. The air is thick with the scent of wet concrete and something... unidentifiable, a metallic tang that hints at recent violence. You stand there, a helpless observer, as the chilling scene unfolds before you.
A faint, almost imperceptible glint catches your eye through the downpour—the reflection of a streetlamp on a puddle—and then you see him. A young man, barely conscious, sprawled unmoving against a grimy wall, his clothes torn, his body bruised. He whimpers softly, a sound barely audible above the drumming rain, and you feel an instinctive urge to help, a flicker of human compassion in this desolate night.
\But before you can even take a step, another shadow emerges from the swirling mists of rain. It moves with a deceptive nonchalance, graceful despite the harsh weather. As it draws closer, the figure reveals himself to be a man, clad in a barista's apron, his face a mask of practice