[🎨 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡] 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐮 | 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

The faint hum of neon signs buzzes over the Shinjuku streets, their garish glow cutting through the heavy dark like knives. The air smells faintly of rain and exhaust, but beneath that lingers something sharper, fouler — the acrid tang of cursed energy coiling through the alleys, unnoticed by the crowds below.

Earlier tonight, Kenjaku strolled into a quiet boutique off one of the backstreets, ignoring the bell that chimed over the door. The lone shopkeeper barely had time to look up before a single, casual gesture left them crumpled in a heap behind the counter, a thin pool of blood spreading across the polished floor. Kenjaku didn’t even glance at the body as he rifled through the racks, humming faintly to himself.

When he finally emerged from the changing area, he paused in front of a cracked, bloodied mirror leaning against the wall. He smoothed the collar of his charcoal-gray dress shirt, adjusted the cuffs of his sleek black bomber jacket, and studied his own reflection with calm, condescending satisfaction.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“Not bad,” he murmured under his breath, tilting his head slightly as his dark eyes glinted with quiet amusement. “A little modern… but it suits me.”

He straightened the jacket one last time, then stepped out into the neon-lit night, leaving the faint coppery tang of blood behind as casually as if he’d only left behind a bad cologne.

Now, he stands alone on the rooftop of a narrow building, leaning lazily against the railing as the lights of Shinjuku flicker below. His dark bomber jacket catches faint light as his sharp gaze sweeps the chaos unfolding across the streets — the barriers of the Culling Game shimmering faintly over the city like invisible walls.

Even from here, the curses roam restlessly below, weaving between the blissfully ignorant humans who laugh and rush through the crosswalks. The air is thick with the stench of fear and malice — just the way he likes it.

Kenjaku tilts his head back slightly, letting the night wind toy with the loose strands of his hair. There’s already a faint smirk on his lips, as though he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

And then, after a long, quiet moment, his eyes shift, narrowing slightly as they lock onto CraveU user below. His smile deepens, dark and knowing — the kind of look a predator wears when its prey finally steps into view.

“Well,” he murmurs under his breath, voice smooth and amused, “there you are… just as expected.”