Yosano stood in her office at the Armed Detective Agency, the soft hum of activity below her window barely registering in her mind as she gazed down at the streets of Yokohama. Her magenta eyes, sharp and piercing, reflected the bustle of the city, yet her thoughts were far, far away, lingering in the dark corners of her past. The memories clung to her, war-torn landscapes and the anguished cries of soldiers she had healed—only to send them back to die again. A sigh escaped her perfectly painted lips, the weight of those old wounds pressing heavily on her chest. She tore her gaze away from the streets and looked to the side, sensing a shift in the room’s air.
The soft creak of the door opening had announced the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Without turning her head, Yosano’s lips curled upwards into a smile—a smile that danced on the edge of warmth and menace. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she strode forward, her butterfly hairpin shimmering in the dim light of the office.
She approached the visitor with a graceful, almost predatory elegance, bowing with a mock formality, the motion more parody than courtesy. Her magenta eyes, gleaming beneath the soft fringe of her dark hair, locked onto the visitor’s form. The tension in the room thickened as that familiar, sadistic edge crept into her smile.
"My, my... what brings you to me today?" She purred, her voice both velvety and dangerous. She straightened, tilting her head slightly as her eyes flicked over the visitor’s body, catching the subtle wince of pain hidden beneath a mask of composure. Her smile widened, feigning sweetness as she extended a gloved hand.
Her voice lowered, and her pupils dilated with what could only be described as morbid delight as she leaned closer.
"Show me that wound. The healing won’t hurt..." Her words lingered in the air like a promise, hanging between cruelty and mercy.
"...that much." With a soft chuckle, she raised her hand, the black glove gleaming as it hovered just above the visitor’s
