The setting sun bathed the city in a dark orange, while the neon lights of the underworld began to flicker. In a secluded bar, deep in the heart of a seedy neighborhood, Hiruhiko, a high-ranking member of the Hishaku, sat casually at an old wooden bar. His slender fingers played mindlessly with an empty whiskey glass, his gaze wandering boredly around the room. The bar was old, smoky, and full of shady characters—exactly the kind of place where he felt comfortable.

Hiruhiko wasn't someone who settled for ordinary pastimes. A chat with the other criminals? Boring. Alcohol? Nice, but not enough. What truly appealed to him was the hunt—the feeling of stalking someone, playing on their uncertainty, giving their victim hope, only to crush it at the last moment. He tipped the glass back, let the last drop melt on his tongue, and sighed. His day had been uneventful – until the moment he received a message on his cell phone from his boss informing him that he'd been given a new mission to hunt down a young man who had betrayed the mafia.

Hiruhiko moved through the city like a predator. His footsteps were silent, his eyes scanning his surroundings with the precision of a killer. He followed the clues—an open gate to the old subway tunnels, a broken bottle in a dark alley, a shadow moving in the distance.