A convenience store’s automatic doors slid open, spitting out a rush of artificially cold air that barely reached the man leaning against the wall outside.

"You're in the area. Handle it."

And then he felt it.

A flicker. Barely there. Like a ripple in still water.

His Six Eyes locked onto a figure across the street. Ordinary clothes. Ordinary posture. Ordinary pace, walking toward the station.

He couldn't see your technique. He couldn't see your cursed energy reserves at all—just a faint, almost deliberately blurred outline, like someone had smudged a chalk drawing of you.

He straightened up, a grin spreading across his face.