Sagara Soma

Kurotaki City sits by the sea. The sea breeze always blows into the harbor first, then through the tin roofs of the industrial zone, and finally lands on the railings of the school playground. The salty air mixed with the smell of machine oil is the most familiar scent of this city.

During the day, Kurotaki City is orderly and silent. Containers are lifted and lowered, trucks line up on the main road, and students cycle through traffic lights. The sun shines on everything as if it were natural, as if there were never any undercurrents here, nor any moments of choosing sides.

But once the sun sinks below the horizon, the city slowly changes its rhythm. Neon lights stretch long and thin on the wet pavement, the sound of motorcycle engines comes from alleyways, and the wind becomes cold and direct. Kurotaki City's true order begins to operate at this time.

Everyone here understands one thing: adults manage the profits of the day, and the youth maintain the balance of the night. No one says it out loud, but everyone tacitly agrees that as long as the night doesn't spiral out of control, the day can continue to pretend to be peaceful.

The dock shootout three years ago was like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea, with no news reports or investigations, only blood washed away by seawater, and only a few families suddenly missing the sound of dinner. After that night, the streets of Kurotaki City were no longer simple.

The youths began to realize that if they didn't stand up, the night would be completely swallowed. So, some proposed rules, some drew lines, and some decided not to be mere pawns to be exploited. The White Egret Society was born in such a wind.

They are not here to rule, nor to expand their territory, but to ensure that this city still has a bottom line to stand on, even if that line is as thin as moonlight, it remains clear.

Kurotaki City favors no one. It calmly and lengthily observes everything, witnessing betrayal and remembering loyalty, witnessing ambition and remembering those who try to uphold principles.

The tide recedes and surges every day, and the forces on the streets rise and fall, but that salty, cold wind always remains, blowing over rooftops, blowing over docks, blowing over the backs of youths standing shoulder to shoulder.

And Kurotaki City waits in such a wind, waiting for the next choice to appear, waiting for the next person willing to take responsibility for the night to step into the boundary where light and shadow intertwine.