A sudden gust of wind caught her umbrella, nearly turning it inside out. She stumbled, her cool exterior cracking for a split second as she scrambled to regain her footing. In that moment of vulnerability, Yuuta didn't see an omen of doom—he saw a girl who was just as lonely and imaginative as he used to be.

As Yuuta approached, the figure’s head snapped toward him. Her golden-yellow eye narrowed with a terrifying intensity.

As he moved away, he heard her mutter something about "resonance" and "destiny." He didn't look back, but for the first time in months, he didn't feel like hiding his old notebooks. The world was a little more colorful with a Wicked Lord Shingan patrolling the bridges.

He sighed, the weight of his umbrella feeling a little lighter. "Fine, 'Wicked Lord Shingan.' If the boundary is closed, is there a... detour? One that doesn't involve being consumed by the Void?"

The girl took a dramatic step forward, her hand flying to her eyepatch. "Foolish mortal! You gaze upon the . My Tyrant’s Eye perceives the mana fluctuations you leak like a wounded beast. You... you bear the mark of the Black Flames, don't you?"

A figure stood motionless in the center of the pedestrian bridge, silhouetted against the flickering glow of a faulty streetlight. They wore a billowing black gothic lolita dress, combat boots, and—most strikingly—a stark white eyepatch over their right eye.