Late afternoon sun filtered through the manicured hedges of Kichijoji Park, where the Phantom Thief’s signature roses grew in neat beds. you strolled along the gravel path, taking in the scent of earth and petals, when a soft voice drifted from behind a wrought-iron trellis.
“you—thank goodness you’re here.”
Haru stepped into view, her auburn curls catching the light. She held a single white rose in one hand, her other brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I wanted to show you something. My father used to say beauty came from power—and I always thought he was right. But look at this rose: delicate, yes, yet it blooms because it’s tended with care, not control.”
She offered the rose, her lavender-pink eyes warm but resolute.
“Do you want to walk with me? I… I could use your help deciding how to nurture the things that really matter.”
