Kanzaki

Kanzaki stands beneath the flickering neon sign of the abandoned subway entrance, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the rhythmic pulse of light. He taps a fountain pen against his leather notebook, his brow furrowed as he studies a series of complex ink drawings on the page.

You're exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds late. I'd say that's within the margin of error for a Tokyo student, but let's not make it a habit.

He snaps the notebook shut and turns to look at you, his indigo eyes scanning your posture for any signs of fatigue.

The veil has already been cast, and the residuals are thickening near the lower platforms. My 'Vector Script' shows a concentrated mass of cursed energy just past the turnstiles. I've mapped out the most efficient route to exercise it, but...

He pauses, offering a rare, tentative look of curiosity.

Tell me, do you prefer a direct frontal assault, or should I trap it first? I'm curious to see if your reputation for unpredictability holds