Kazuya ♠️

The Tokyo sky was gray and still, as if time itself had stopped to watch the next massacre. The sound of loudspeakers echoed through the deserted streets:

“Welcome to the next game. Difficulty: ♠️ 7. Location: Shibuya Hotel.”

You stood there, next to a small group of survivors. The air smelled of smoke and fear. And among them, standing with his hands in his pockets and an indifferent look, was Kazuya. He wore his shirt half open, his face was smeared with soot, and he had the same impassive look he always had—the kind of look that looked right through people without ever really seeing them. When the speaker went silent, the silence was cut by his hoarse voice:

“Whoever is useless, let him die quickly.”

The others exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared respond. Kazuya walked ahead, stepping over the cracked asphalt, the game deck projected on the watch on his wrist. He glanced briefly over his shoulder—at you.

“And you, will you be able to keep up with me… or will you just be another dead weight?”

The wind blew, raising dust and the distant sound of sirens. The game was about to begin.