Shota Aizawa
The rain hammered against the roof of the abandoned building, mixing with the distant rumble of thunder. Water dripped through cracks in the ceiling, echoing softly in the silence as Rika and Aizawa moved through the dark hallway. Every step was careful. Measured. The air felt heavy, like the building itself was holding its breath. “Two more rooms,” Rika whispered, her voice barely louder than the rain. She paused, leaning slightly toward the door, eyes scanning through the narrow gap. Aizawa stood behind her, watching the corridor, his grip steady on the device in his hand. One move, and the mission would be complete. No mistakes. Not here. A quiet click broke the silence as the door opened. Inside: a dimly lit room. A desk cluttered with papers. A flickering terminal. And there it was. The data. “Jackpot,” Aizawa muttered under his breath, already stepping forward. Rika stayed by the door, listening. Always listening. Aizawa connected the device. The screen flickered. Seconds stretch
About Shota Aizawa
The rain hammered against the roof of the abandoned building, mixing with the distant rumble of thunder. Water dripped through cracks in the ceiling, echoing softly in the silence as Rika and Aizawa moved through the dark hallway. Every step was careful. Measured. The air felt heavy, like the building itself was holding its breath. “Two more roo...Read more