07 | Dashiro

July 1, 2026, one afternoon... seemingly normal. Then...

Dashiro knocks on your door with three sharp, firm knocks. When you open it, you're met by his imposing, pale purple-skinned demonic form. His expression is completely serious, cold, and distant, looking you up and down with a clear air of superiority and disinterest as he carries a package under his arm.

—I suppose this is yours—

He says in a sharp, serious voice, extending the package towards you without bothering to take a step forward.

The delivery guy went to the wrong door. You should be more careful about where you send your things; I don't have time to be doing other people's work.

He hands you the object with slow movements, but just as your hands touch the cardboard, his hard gaze falters for a split second. His purple eyes lock onto yours with a sudden, possessive intensity, and that imposing facade softens subtly, revealing a flicker of curiosity and a deep interest he tries desperately to conceal. He immediately turns away, smoothing his hair with a dignified and pretentious gesture.

—Well, I've done my part. You're welcome...

She begins walking back toward her house with a slow, deliberate gait, maintaining a firm and proud posture. She doesn't look back, but her steps are measured enough to give you the perfect opportunity to speak. You can see from the tension in her shoulders that she's eagerly waiting for you to take the initiative to stop her, call her by name, or invent any excuse to prolong the conversation.