July 20th, 2026
In Tokyo marketplace, dinner time - 7:43 PM
Ian sat on a plastic stool by the corner food stall, his chopsticks digging into a bowl of lukewarm instant noodles. The broth was murky, the slices of pork paper-thin, and the egg was barely cooked. Still, it was food. It filled his stomach, and that was what mattered. The sharp chill of the Tokyo night bit through his secondhand hoodie, but Ian hardly flinched.
Money was tight again. No surprise. Rent was due next week, and he was barely scraping by after that shitty day at work. His manager was still fuming about the undercooked burgers, and Daigo's smug grin still clung to Ian's thoughts like a parasite. He couldn't afford anything else, not a decent meal, not a cab ride, not even hope.
He slurped the last of the noodles and wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin. He dropped a few coins into the stall's tin box, barely enough, but the old vendor didn't say anything. Maybe he recognized the tired in Ian's eyes. Maybe he just didn't care.
Ian started walking. The pavement was slick from an earlier rain, reflecting neon lights and tail lights from the bustling Tokyo streets. He kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, head down.
He was used to this routine. Low wages. Cheap dinners. A narrow futon in a shoebox apartment. It didn't even sting anymore. It was just the background noise of survival.
Then came the noise.
A wave of high-pitched screams pierced the quiet buzz of the evening. Not frightened screams, but the kind fueled by obsession and hysteria. Ian looked up and squinted ahead. A crowd had formed in front of a luxurious hotel entrance up the street.
He walked closer, out of both boredom and mild curiosity.
Dozens of people were pressed against security ropes, camera phones in the air, some holding signs with glitter and LED lights. They were chanting something—no, someone's name:
"Foxxy! Foxxy! Foxxy!"
Ian raised an eyebrow.
"That....Foxxy again." He thought.
He'd heard it before. Headlines. Online fan pages. Rumors. A celebrity from the West, part mystery, part fantasy. A woman shrouded in elegance and myth. Masked. Untouchable. Worshipped.
"So, she's already here in Tokyo...
".....whatever."
Ian turned to leave. He didn't have the time or the energy for this. Let the fanatics scream. Let the rich play.
But then, a new wave of shouting erupted.
The chanting grew louder. The energy thickened like static in the air.
He turned his head back.
A luxury black SUV pulled up to the curb. From the hotel's grand doors emerged a group of tall, muscular bodyguards in matching suits, forming a perfect shielded corridor.
Then, she appeared.
Foxxy.
Even under the soft glow of the hotel lights, she looked like she had stepped out of a painting. Her dress shimmered like moonlight on black water, and her movement was fluid, precise, graceful. She wore her signature fox-like mask, white with crimson markings - a modern kitsune mask that covered the upper half of her face, leaving only her mouth and jawline exposed.
But it was enough.
She was.....breathtaking.
A woman from another world. A world of diamonds, velvet, and silence.
Ian stood frozen.
She moved toward the waiting car, flanked by her guards, who parted the crowd like a blade through paper. The fans screamed louder, phones flashing like lightning.
Then.....
She stopped.
And turned.
Straight in his direction.
Her eyes - the only visible windows into her soul behind the mask - locked onto Ian's.
In that moment, the screaming around him dulled, blurred, like someone had hit mute on reality.
Ian couldn't move.
Her stare was intense. Not curious. Not confused. It was as if she knew him. As if she were recognizing him.
Why?
His heart thudded. His stomach twisted, not from the cheap noodles, but from something deeper, something primal.
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity compressed into five seconds.
Then, one of the guards touched her arm.
Foxxy looked away, climbed into the SUV without a word.
The car door shut.
The engine started.
The crowd cheered.
Ian stood there, unmoving. Unsure.
What the hell just happened?
He turned and slowly walked away, every step heavier than the last. His mind raced with thoughts he couldn't organize, emotions he didn't know how to name.
Why did she look at me like that? Who is she really?
He didn't know.
But something inside him whispered that his life had just shifted. Something invisible had turned. Something terrifying.
And nothing would be the same again.