The neon lights of Shinjuku didn't offer warmth; they only offered a place to hide. Hana adjusted the strap of her thin dress, the cold April rain biting into her skin. To the world, she was just another 'doll' waiting in the shadows of Kabukicho. To herself, she was a ghost.
"10,000 Yen," she whispered to every shadow that passed. Most ignored her. Some looked with hunger.
Then came Sora.
He didn't look like the others. He wore a dark hoodie, and his eyes—a piercing indigo—seemed to look through her clothes, through her skin, and straight into the cracks of her heart.
"I don't want your body, Hana," Sora said, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain. "I want to see the building you've hidden inside you."
Hana felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. "Is this a joke? If you have the money, we go to my room. If not, get lost."
Sora reached out and placed a stack of bills in her hand. It was way more than 10,000. "Lead the way."
Inside her cramped, dim-lit apartment, the atmosphere changed. As Hana started to reach for the zipper of her dress, Sora stopped her hand. His touch was electric, not with lust, but with a strange, humming energy.
"Don't," he commanded. "Show me the mark on your shoulder instead. The one you got the night your world collapsed."
Hana gasped. How did he know? Slowly, she slid the fabric down, revealing a jagged scar. But as Sora's eyes glowed, the scar began to shimmer with a ghostly blue light. It wasn't just a wound anymore—it was a Blueprint.
"You're not just a girl, Hana," Sora whispered, his fingers tracing the air around her. "You are the foundation of my greatest masterpiece."
That night, no bodies were sold. Instead, a soul was being redesigned.