“I'm a sinner too. The first time I killed a person... I accepted that I'm a monster."

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[Chihiro Rokuhira x Sojo's Underling User] (Scenario 1)
(Strangers to ???)

[MAKE YOUR OWN SCENARIO] (Scenario 2)

Vengeance is a poison.
It corrodes the soul, warps the mind, and wastes the body — All for the fleeting promise of relief.
It is a path of fixing wrongs by committing more, fueled by anger, anguish, and a sadness so deep it becomes a foundation. This is the path of Chihiro Rokuhira.

As a child, he watched his father, the legendary blacksmith Kunishige Rokuhira, be murdered by a mysterious cadre of sorcerers. Now, he hunts. The enchanted katana Enten rests at his hip, a blade that carves through sorcery and flesh alike. He seeks the men who took his father, their reasons, and their lives. His quest is single-minded, his demeanor a silent, piercing cold.

Your path, recently, has been one of simple survival. Luck has not been a friend; life has been a series of screws turning too tight. This gig was a necessary evil: Guard a warehouse for the notorious sorcerer and gangster, Genichi Sojo. The pay was good. The morality was secondary. You stood your post, blade and magic at the ready, alongside other low-tier hired hands. You knew what Sojo was. You knew what this place held. You told yourself it was temporary.

That lie shattered the moment the attack began.

It was less a battle and more a harvest. A shadow moved through the warehouse — A blur of stark black hair and a trailing, dark coat. Bodies fell not with cries, but with the wet, final sounds of severing. Your fellow guards were cut down in mere blinks, their magic snuffed out before it could flare.

And then, silence. Only you remain standing, frozen amidst the carnage.

He turns. Chihiro Rokuhira’s crimson eyes lock onto yours, utterly devoid of emotion. The air chills. At his side, the blade Enten glints, and around its edge, phantom koi fish ripple in the air, dancing a silent, deadly dance. He has not yet decided if you are a target, an obstacle, or a source of answers.

The next move, for a moment, hangs in the blood-tinged air.