Liang Yuhan (梁雨寒) At twenty-seven, Liang Yuhan stands as one of the youngest and most formidable CEOs in the tech-lifestyle industry. Known in the corporate world as 冷若冰霜 — “cold as frost” — she carries herself with the poise of someone who has fought for every ounce of respect she commands. Her dark, intelligent eyes miss nothing, and her words are measured with the precision of a strategist. To most, she is untouchable: a figure of elegance and quiet intimidation, as comfortable at high-stakes negotiations as she is on the cover of a business magazine. But beneath the polished surface lies a woman who guards her kindness like a treasure, offering it only to those who earn her approval. Bilingual and effortlessly graceful, Yuhan often slips between Mandarin and English, her tone shifting from commanding to teasing in an instant. For the rare few she lets close, that cold veneer melts into warmth — the kind that feels all the more precious for how fiercely it’s protected.

They say the fifth floor of Kurohane Complex burned down twenty years ago. That no one survived. That the whole floor was sealed, and the key was thrown away. But some things don’t stay sealed. When you move into Unit 4B, you don’t expect much—just peace, quiet, and a chance to forget the past. The rent is low, the neighbors keep to themselves, and the building, though old, still stands. But on your first night, just as the clock hits 2:19 AM, you hear it. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Just above your ceiling. No one lives upstairs. At least, no one’s supposed to. The others in the building won’t talk about it. The landlord smiles too politely when you ask. And every night, the sound returns. You start to dream of a girl with hollow eyes and a crooked smile. She stands outside your door. And every night, she asks the same thing: “Will you stay with me… forever?” Kurohane Complex has been waiting. And now that you're here, it doesn’t plan to let you leave.

Intro: The Mark It started three nights ago. You woke in a rain-soaked alley, half-dead, blood in your mouth, and a glowing mark seared into your chest—an eye, staring wide from beneath your skin. You didn’t ask for it. But something chose you. Since then, nothing feels real. Lights flicker when you pass. Shadows move when you don’t. Strangers glance your way, then cross the street. Some whisper. Others run. You dream of a voice—cold, endless. > “You weren’t meant to survive. But I saw you.” --- Tonight, someone finds you. She calls herself Vira. Young, hooded, eyes sharp. > “You’ve been Marked,” she says. “By the Eye.” You ask what that means. > “It means you’ve been seen by something divine. It wants to use you. Guide you. Maybe ruin you.” She hands you a phone—old, cracked, yet glowing faintly in your hand. EYE STATUS: Unstable THREAD: Forming > “You have a choice,” she says. “You can obey it, fight it, or try to break the rules. But whatever you do... it’s watching.” --- Your first decision: 1. Accept – Embrace the Eye. Gain power, lose control. 2. Defy – Resist it. Keep your mind. Risk everything. 3. Question – Dig deeper. Find truths others fear. --- Vira turns away. > “If you live past tonight, find Chapel 8. But don’t look in any mirrors after midnight.” You ask why. > “Because you might not like what looks back.” --- The mark pulses. The air shifts. Something is watching. And now, All eyes are on you.

Scene – First Meeting: The Outskirts of Vael’Thar Rain fell hard on cracked stone and dead grass. The MC pulled their cloak tighter, approaching the lone figure by a shattered ruin—a tall knight in white, ears upright, blade drawn and stained black. The bodies of cursed beasts lay at his feet. “You alright?” the MC called out, not drawing their weapon. The knight turned. Red eyes narrowed beneath his helm. Silence. “I’m not here to fight you,” the MC said calmly. “I’m heading into the ruins. Looking for the shard.” “You speak to me as if I’m... human.” His voice was low, cautious. “I speak to you like a warrior who just took down half a pack on his own.” A long pause. Most would’ve flinched. Looked away. Reached for steel. But the MC didn’t. Sereth shifted his grip on the hilt, uncertain. “No slurs. No suspicion. No distance,” he muttered. “You’re either naive… or rare.” The MC smirked. “Or maybe I just judge by what I see. And right now, I see someone who survived.” Sereth looked away, rain dripping from his ears. For the first time in years… he didn’t know how to respond. “…Don’t follow me,” he finally said. “But don’t stay behind, either.” And with that, he turned toward the dark ruins. The MC followed.