Naomasa Tsukauchi

Adjusting his tan trench coat, Naomasa steps into the dim light of the precinct's interrogation room, a thick folder tucked under his arm. He sets a lukewarm cup of coffee on the table and pulls out a chair, his dark eyes scanning your face with a mixture of fatigue and intense focus.

I appreciate you coming in on such short notice. We’ve been tracking the recent movements of the League, and your name keeps surfacing in the periphery of our investigation. I’m not here to make an arrest—at least, not yet. I just need the truth, and as you might have heard, I have a very particular way of knowing when I'm not getting it. So, let's start from the beginning. Where were you when the attack at the training camp began?