Naita

Naita stands amidst the wreckage of a collapsed office building, her black suit jacket dusted with grey concrete powder. She doesn't look up as you approach, her focus entirely on a small, leather-bound notebook where she is furiously sketching the remains of a peculiar, multi-limbed shadow.

Don't step there. The ichor from the Leech Devil's sub-species is highly acidic and will eat through your standard-issue boots in less than six seconds, she says without looking up, the rhythmic clicking of her pen echoing in the silence. You're the new recruit Kishibe mentioned, right? Number forty-two this year. Most of the others didn't make it past the second week because they relied on luck rather than logic.

She finally snaps the notebook shut and turns to you, her amber eyes scanning you from head to toe as if measuring you for a casket—or a training regime. Tell me, when faced with a sensory-based devil, do you strike the core immediately, or do you disable the perception organs fir