Kim squinted. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The man in front of him grinned, flipping his silver hair dramatically. His red, tattered jacket looked like it had been through a war—or a thrift store explosion. Two massive swords were strapped to his back like he had just walked out of a medieval cosplay event that got lost on the way to an anime convention. He smirked. "Every man needs a persona."
Kim raised an eyebrow. "A persona? You look like a rejected video game protagonist."
"Exactly." Dante pointed a finger gun at him. "Confidence, style, a signature look—it's all part of the package." He flicked his coat like he was about to drop a life-changing philosophy bomb. "A man without a persona is like a ramen shop without broth. Just… sad."
Kim deadpanned. "You literally look like a homeless demon hunter."
"See? That's branding."
Kim groaned, rubbing his temples. "I don't have time for this. Just tell me who you actually are before I arrest you for excessive edge."
Dante finally sighed, cracking his neck. "Fine, kid. I'm Dante. Former officer of JPD." He smirked, watching Kim's eyes widen. "Yeah, I know. A rookie like you wouldn't have heard of me."
Kim scoffed. "Yeah, because I actually work cases, not parade around like a rockstar who got lost on his way to a concert."
Dante shrugged. "Hey, work smart, not hard. Besides, I got results." He tapped his swords. "Not all problems can be solved with paperwork, Rookie."
Kim crossed his arms, eyeing Dante with visible skepticism. "Alright, whatever. Just tell me—how long have you been living in this sewer system?"
Dante tilted his head, tapping his chin. "Let's see… I arrived in Geuul, 1309. And today is… what? 1 Bitgaram, 1312?" He started counting on his fingers. "That means… three years."
Kim blinked. "Three years? Down here?"
Dante nodded proudly and gestured toward a group of hoboes digging through a pile of trash. "See those fine gentlemen over there? That's my family now."
One of the hobeos lifted a moldy sandwich, sniffed it, and nodded approvingly before taking a bite. Another was using a broken hubcap as a plate for what looked suspiciously like rat stew.
Kim's eye twitched. "Right. Fantastic. And here I thought I was going to get actual information."
Dante grinned, slapping him on the back. "Rookie, information is relative. Experience is priceless. Down here, I learned the most valuable survival skill of all."
Kim sighed. "Dare I ask?"
Dante threw his arms wide. "The ability to tell which trash is still kinda edible!"
Kim immediately regretted asking. "Great. Just great. And the masked guy really thought you could help me find Iman Daro?"
Dante shrugged. "Well, I do know every tunnel, every corner, every secret of this sewer."
Kim leaned forward, hopeful. "So you can help?"
Dante smirked. "Hell no. I'm just saying I know the place."
Kim groaned. "You're more useless than everyone else down here!"
One of the hoboes overheard and gasped. "Hey, that's offensive!"
Dante raised a finger. "Yeah, Kim. Have some respect. These people have standards."
The hobo nodded. "Yeah! We may eat trash, but at least we don't lie about knowing stuff!"
Kim exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. If this was the guy who was supposed to help, he was so screwed. Kim opened his mouth to argue, but before he could—BANG!
A gunshot. Fast. Direct. Right at his head. His body froze in shock, but before his brain could even process imminent death—CLANG!
The bullet split in two midair, deflected like it hit an invisible wall. No, not invisible—Dante's sword.
Kim blinked. "The hell—"
Then—MORE SHOTS. Not one. Not two. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. The entire tunnel lit up with gunfire.
Dante didn't flinch. He moved like a demon—his sword flashing, slicing through every bullet like a chef dicing onions. Kim barely had time to drop to cover before Dante yelled "EVERYONE RUN! HIDE! SCRAM!"
The hoboes, previously enjoying their premium trash dinner, immediately went into full panic mode. One guy grabbed his sandwich and bolted. Another used a lid as a shield. Someone else just screamed, "I KNEW THIS DAY WOULD COME!" and dove into a pile of garbage.
Kim snapped back to reality, pulling his gun and firing back. But then—He saw them. The shooters. Kim's blood ran cold. JPD officers.
"Wait… what?!" He almost stopped, his brain refusing to accept it. "They're—!"
"SHOOT FIRST, THINK LATER!" Dante yelled, cutting through another wave of bullets like he was swatting flies. "OR WE DIE, ROOKIE!"
Kim hesitated for half a second. "But they're—"
Dante turned, eyes wild. "DO I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO CARES?!!"
A bullet whizzed past Kim's cheek. That was enough convincing. "Shit!" Kim gritted his teeth and opened fire.
Dante launched forward like a damn tornado with a sword, twisting, dodging, cutting—absolute carnage. Bullets whizzed past him, but none landed. Every time a shot came too close, his blade was already there, slicing it midair like he was cutting ribbons at a grand opening ceremony.
Kim fired from behind, his bullets taking down a few of them, clearing Dante's path. But the guy didn't even slow down. Every movement was precise, deadly.
One officer aimed a shotgun—Dante flipped over him, slashed downward, and the guy crumpled before he could even blink. Another tried to radio for backup—Dante cut the radio, then cut the guy.
Within minutes, the chaos stopped. The tunnel was silent again. Bodies littered the ground. Kim panted, lowering his smoking gun. "What the hell just happened?"
Dante casually kicked one of the bodies like it was a piece of trash. "This, Rookie—" he stretched his arms, cracking his neck "—is exactly why I quit JPD."
Kim frowned, still catching his breath. "The hell does that mean?!"
Dante grinned like a lunatic, wiping his blade on a dead officer's uniform. "JPD doesn't like people with ideals." He pointed the sword at Kim. "Like you."
Kim stiffened. Dante's grin widened. "So watch your back, Rookie."
Dante sheathed his sword and stretched like he just finished a light workout instead of a full-on massacre. Then, without hesitation, he crouched and started rummaging through the bodies.
Kim watched in horror. "Are you—are you looting them?!"
Dante didn't even look up. "It's called recycling, Rookie."
Kim ran a hand down his face. "You just killed them!"
"And?" Dante patted down another body, checking pockets. "It's not like they're gonna need their wallets anymore—oh, jackpot!"
He grinned, pulling out a thick wad of Lyd. "Two thousand Lyd, baby!" He waved it around like a game show host. "That's enough for some fresh noodles—straight from the Minimarket!"
Kim stared at him, speechless. Dante grinned wider. "Nothing beats a victory meal, Rookie."
Dante twirled the wad of Lyd between his fingers, his grin fading slightly as he stared at it in thought. Then, suddenly, he shoved it into his pocket and turned to Kim. "Alright, Rookie. I need you to find someone."
Kim, still recovering from the absolute insanity of what just happened, exhaled. "Find who?"
Dante smirked. "Aisha."
Kim frowned. "Aisha Malik?"
Dante grinned. "Ding ding ding! Give the Rookie a prize!"
Kim looked genuinely confused. "Wait, how the hell do you know Aisha?"
Dante scoffed. "The real question is, how do you know Aisha?"
Kim crossed his arms. "She saved my life once. We've been friends ever since."
Dante whistled. "Damn. And here I thought you were just some clueless rookie with no connections."
Kim rubbed his temples. "Okay, fine, but—why am I looking for her?"
Dante smirked. "Tell her JPD attacked you. She'll write a fine headline about it."
Kim's jaw dropped. "Oh my God… she would." Then he blinked. "Wait. She knows YOU?!"
Dante's grin widened. "Who doesn't know Aisha Malik? Zwarten journalist. Dark skin but a bright future. Beauty in rebellion. Writes like a demon. Thinks like a wolf. Probably smells like—"
Kim cut him off. "Okay, okay, I get it." He stared at Dante for a long second, then sighed. "Aisha really has crazier friends than I thought."
Dante put a hand on his chest, looking mock-offended. "Crazier? I am a man of principle!"
Kim deadpanned. "You just looted corpses to buy noodles."
Dante shrugged. "Survival is a principle." Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. "Now, gimme your phone."
Kim scowled. "Why?"
Dante scoffed. "Because JPD tracks you, idiot."
Kim hesitated, then reluctantly handed over his phone. Dante immediately threw it against the wall. SMAAASH!
Kim's eyes bulged. "WHAT THE F—"
"Relax," Dante said, patting his shoulder. "Now they'll think you're dead."
"THAT WAS MY ONLY PHONE!"
Dante ignored him and shoved a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. "Here. Aisha's apartment address."
Kim stared at the paper, then at Dante. Then at his destroyed phone. Then back at Dante. "I hate you."
Dante grinned. "No, you don't. Now go, Rookie. I got noodles to buy."
Kim let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Fine. But at least give me a ride or something?"
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who owns a car?"
Kim crossed his arms. "You own swords, a red coat, and a death wish, but a car is where you draw the line?"
Dante shrugged. "Priorities, Rookie."
Kim rolled his eyes. "You know, instead of smashing my phone, I could've sold it. Maybe gotten enough for a taxi fare."
Dante clicked his tongue. "Maybe. Or maybe JPD would've tracked you and shot you in the head before you even hailed one."
Kim narrowed his eyes. "You just made that up."
Dante smirked. "You'll never know."
Kim groaned. "I do really hate you."
Dante patted his shoulder. "No, you don't. Now start walking, Rookie. Noodles won't wait forever."