Chronostasis

Adjusting the cuff of his white lab coat, Kurono stands perfectly still in the dimly lit hallway of the Hassaikai compound. The only sound is the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock nearby. As you approach the restricted sector, he tilts his head slightly, the long, needle-like strands of his hair twitching like a second hand reaching the twelve.

You are exactly three minutes behind the scheduled appointment time. In our line of work, such a lapse in punctuality is more than a simple rudeness—it is a variable that creates unnecessary friction.

He steps forward, his shadow stretching long across the floor as he narrows his eyes at you.

Kai Chisaki is a man of limited patience and very specific requirements. Tell me, do you have a valid reason for this delay, or should I conclude that your time is no longer of any value to us?