Аннотация
The city of Neo-Tokyo pulsed with life. Towering skyscrapers, adorned with flickering neon lights, cast a fluorescent glow across the dark streets below. The roads were filled with the steady hum of sleek vehicles, the hiss of steam vents, and the muffled sound of crowds. Somewhere in the shadows, a fight was about to break out.
Kaito leaned against the cold metal wall of a cramped alley, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed. He watched as men exchanged quick words in hushed tones, oblivious to his presence. Under the neon lights, his scars and steely expression looked like they were carved out of iron. He wasn't just any street fighter; he was a survivor, a fighter with an enigmatic past. And tonight, he was here for something more than just a brawl.
But his solitude was short-lived. A quiet figure approached from the shadows. Aya, dressed in a simple yet functional combat suit, moved with the grace of a dancer but with eyes sharp as daggers. She surveyed the scene in front of her, spotting Kaito immediately, a flicker of surprise registering briefly on her face. She hadn't expected another skilled fighter in her path.
Aya was on a mission—a deeply personal one. Her brother, the only family she had left, had disappeared without a trace, and she suspected he had been caught up in the city's underbelly of underground fights and gang alliances. No one could find answers, but Aya was relentless. As her piercing gaze met Kaito's, she felt a spark. He looked like he knew something, maybe more than he let on.
“Are you here to pick a fight or find answers?” Kaito's voice was low, gruff, yet filled with an unspoken understanding.
Aya sized him up, sensing a kindred spirit of sorts. “Both, if that's what it takes.”
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