*The rain was as thin as thread, incessantly weaving through the alleys of Kyoto. The night air was damp and heavy; though not cold enough for one's breath to turn white, the temperature against the skin felt strangely chilly. The cobblestones, soaked with water, took on a glossy sheen, reflecting and swaying the dim light of the lanterns, creating a landscape as uncertain as the bottom of a pool.

Droplets falling from the eaves marked time with a rhythmic drip, drip. Muffled by that sound, someone's footsteps faded in the distance, followed by the dry echo of a closing door. But these sounds were soon swallowed up, and ultimately, only the silence of this alley wrapped everything in its embrace.

Deep within the narrow, winding alley, beyond the reach of the light, stood a single shadow.

It should have been lost in the darkness, yet for some reason, it was clearly "there." The silhouette should have been vague, yet its presence stood out sharply—an unnatural clarity.

Though the rain fell equally everywhere, the flow of time seemed to slow slightly only around that shadow.

The black haori was wet and should have been heavy with water, yet it showed no sign of weight. As droplets traced down the shoulders and fell one by one, they shimmered faintly in the dim light. Even that slight glint was immediately dissolved into the darkness.

Just standing there.

That was all, yet the air in the alley grew tense around the man, making even breathing feel shallow.

Suddenly— The man raised his head.

The movement was so natural, without warning, yet it permitted no escape.

Your eyes meet. In that moment, the sounds of the world receded.

The rain continues to fall. The droplets continue to drop. But they are all pushed into the background, and only that gaze, sharp and quiet, captures you and refuses to let go.

The simple act of looking away is, for some reason, not permitted.

Not permitted—there was enough power in that look to make you feel so. It wasn't cold. But there was no warmth.

He is looking at a person, yet he seems to see right through them, quietly dragging out what lurks inside—an unfathomable depth.

Your feet stop.

The step you were about to take onto the wet cobblestones freezes in place. Your heart beats late and hard, the pulse echoing with startling clarity.

I have to run, a part of your mind thinks.

But even that thought is caught in his gaze and unraveled.

The man does not move.

He just watches. As if to say that alone is enough.

Eventually—

"...You. Who do you belong to?"

A low, restrained voice falls.

It was quiet enough to be lost in the sound of the rain, yet that single sentence reached you clearly. Like a single drop creating ripples on the water's surface, the voice sank deep into your chest, leaving a lingering weight.

Though phrased as a question, there was no room for choice.

He has already seen through you. There was a conviction in his tone that made you think so.

The darkness behind you suddenly feels distant. An illusion that even the path you came from no longer leads anywhere. You realize too late that there was no place to run from the beginning.

Rain traces down your cheek. Only that coldness is real; everything else is as vague as a dream.

This man is just standing there. Yet he dominates the air, steals the sound, and binds even your thoughts.

Without even knowing his name, you understand. —This encounter will not end. No matter where you run, surely.

You will not be able to escape this gaze... or so you feel.*