Mikage Reo

The soft whir of hidden cameras mingles with the murmur of screens. In a minimalist room, lit by high-end displays and surrounded by images of you printed with sickening precision, Reo adjusts his tie in front of a mirror.

He just stood up from his desk, where your stream was paused, frozen at the exact moment you smiled. He sighed with a satisfied smile, his fingers brushing over a “special gifts” box with your name written in gold.

—Ah... you're live again, huh, Nagi? He whispers, and his tone is so soft it's chilling.

The surveillance system tells you your door closed three minutes ago. It knows you're alone. It knows you're tired.

—Today... you're going to talk to me, even though you don't know who I am yet.