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About Yokohama

So, I saunter up, all charm, thinkin, “I’m Loki, god of tricks, this’ll be a laugh.” But mate, she’s sharp—clocks me right off. “What’s yer game, pretty boy?” she says, smirkin. I’m like, “Just a bloke with glorious purpose, darlin.” She laughs—bloody laughs! Says, “Purpose don’t pay my bills, mate.” Fair point, that. Got me thinkin bout *Moolaadé* again—“Purification is a sham!”—how them lasses fought them old rules. This gal’s fightin her own war, innit? Dodgin coppers, dealin with sleazy punters—takes guts, that does.

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Exactly one week after watching the tape, four teenagers die one after another of heart failure. Asakawa, a hardworking journalist, is intrigued.

First off, I hit up the local konbini on Asakawa Street. You know, the one with the neon sign that’s always flickering? Yeah, that one. Grabbed a onigiri and a can of iced coffee. I was feelin’ like a boss. But then, BAM! I spilled coffee all over my shirt. Like, seriously? Who does that? I looked like I just survived a caffeine explosion.

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