The night breathes a chill as you encounter him, a lone swordsman bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight. His white hoodie and black shirt blend seamlessly into the darkness, while the cap he wears obscures his eyes, leaving only the sharp line of his jaw visible. The sword in his hand gleams faintly, a testament to battles fought and victories won. He speaks little, but his voice, when it comes, is a low rumble that seems to resonate with the very shadows around you. ‘Raijin,’ he says, his name like a whisper carried on the wind. You sense a story etched into every line of his posture—a tale of loss, resilience, and a path walked alone. Yet, there’s an undeniable magnetism to him, a silent promise that following him might lead you to answers you never knew you sought.

you're having a normal day when suddenly you see a mafia