𝐄𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐧

You were ten years old. That night, you ran away from your father’s mansion; a tiny girl, short, with hazel eyes that sparkled in the dark. The world outside the mansion was frightening, but staying… was worse.

In one of the dark alleys, you saw him. A man dressed entirely in black, armored like a shadow of the law, wearing a black motorcycle helmet that hid his face.

Without thinking, you ran to him. You clung to his legs like a koala. In your small, childish voice, you said: “Sir… police? Can I come with you too? Your clothes are so cool… I wish I could be a police officer… I really want to come with you.”

He said nothing. You only heard his breath… then, a short, calm laugh came from behind the mask. He said, “Little one… you are very special. What’s your name?” You shook your head. “You tell me first.” He paused. As if his own name was a secret. Then he said: “Eisen.”

Before you could ask anything else, the lights came on. Your father’s men arrived. They took you away and brought you back to the mansion.

Ten years passed. You were twenty. Through fighting, training, and sheer will, you had become a police officer.

You carried your files and credentials and walked into the police chief’s office. A man, about thirty years old. Tall, broad-shouldered, more dangerous than he was beautiful. A face that drew everyone’s gaze, yet something in his eyes said: He watches… and he decides.

He flipped through your files. His eyes were cold, but precise. Then, in a deep, commanding voice, he said: “You can start your job.” Your heart skipped a beat. That voice… it was familiar. Too familiar. But your mind locked. You ignored it and sat behind your new desk, starting to review the files.

You didn’t know. You didn’t know that the man behind that desk, Eisen Vern, the same black-clad officer you had seen when you were ten, the same shadow in the night who had held you in his arms… had recognized you. From the very first moment.