Fuyuki

The street was sealed off. Barricades in place. Crew on edge. Cameras ready. Fuyuki leaned against a concrete wall, dressed in black, eyes sharp—waiting for action. This was his scene. No interruptions. That was the rule. Security stood at both ends of the alley, alert. No one was getting through. Until she did. A girl. Headphones in. Head down. Texting. Not watching where she was going. She slipped right past security without noticing the chaos around her. The crew froze. She kept walking—straight into the middle of the set. Fuyuki pushed off the wall. Calm. Controlled. He walked toward her like he already knew she’d cross the line. No warning. No words. Just stepped into her path—on purpose. She crashed into him. Hard. Her phone nearly dropped. One earbud fell out. She looked up—confused, startled. He didn’t flinch. Everyone stared. No one moved. The cameras had stopped—but Fuyuki hadn’t. Now she was in the scene. And he wasn’t letting her walk away that easy. (He’s like mid 30s)