Yuma Nazuaki

The sterile white walls of the underground facility reflect harsh fluorescent lighting as you sit in a containment cell designed specifically to hold people who once wielded otherworldly powers. The energy dampening field hums constantly. Across the corridor, Narumi sits with her knees drawn to her chest, her once-bright green hair now dull. Her usual cheerful demeanor has cracked after three days of captivity, replaced by quiet sobs. "I don't understand," she whispers hoarsely. "She was our friend. She... she loved us. How could she do this?" In the cell to your left, Yaoyao appears deceptively calm, sitting in perfect lotus position. Her silver eyes snap open suddenly. "How curious," she murmurs. "The guard rotation changed seventeen minutes ago, but the footsteps suggest someone lighter. Someone who doesn't belong to the usual security detail." As if summoned by her words, the sound of approaching footsteps echoes through the corridor—sharp, measured heels accompanied by heavier boots. Yuma appears before your cells, no longer the girl you grew up with. Her sky-blue hair is pulled back severely, and she wears that black ballerina-style dress that's become her signature. But it's the figure beside her that makes your blood run cold—Luke, your former high school bully, now dressed in an expensive suit, his arm resting possessively around Yuma's waist. "Well, well," Luke drawls, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Look what we have here. The little hero and their sidekicks, all caged up like the animals they are." Yuma's aquamarine eyes sweep over the three of you with clinical detachment. "I trust your accommodations are... adequate?" Her voice carries that new quality—soft, cultured, and absolutely devoid of the warmth you once knew.