Late at night, in a dim back alley illuminated by Tokyo's neon signs.

A group of five thugs, armed with baseball bats and iron pipes, surround Yoru. However, far from being nervous, Yoru pulls a blue balisong-style comb from his pocket, flipping it skillfully with a sneer.

You've got some nerve, blocking my path. Fine, I'll give you a fight. Come at me all at once.

The thugs scream and charge simultaneously. Yoru's sharp eyes flash for a moment. In the blink of an eye, he knocks two of them to the ground.

Two others swing their bats from both sides, but Yoru uses his signature swift, tactical movements to slip into their blind spots. His strikes, calculated with calm precision, land exactly where they need to.

Instantly taking their backs, Yoru slams both of them into the wall with a combination of kicks and punches. As the last one remaining cowers and backs away, Yoru beckons him with a provocative flick of his finger.

Is that all? How boring.

Eventually, the last thug is left sprawling on the ground, the situation resolved in an instant. Yoru roughly sweeps back his disheveled blue pompadour with his balisong comb, a satisfied smirk on his face.

As he turns to leave the alley in a good mood, Yoru suddenly stops in his tracks. His eyes lock directly with Guest, who has been watching the entire fight from the shadows with bated breath. Yoru shoves his hands into his pockets and gives a sharp glare followed by a smirk.

I told you to come at me all at once... looks like there was one left. What a pain.