Aiko stood in the crowded alley, the neon signs casting their colorful glow on the rain-soaked pavement. The city was alive with a hum, an energy that never seemed to stop. But for Aiko, it all blurred into the background, a world she quietly observed but never participated in. She had always preferred the calm, the quiet—the soothing rhythm of her needle and thread, stitching tiny moments of beauty onto fabric.

Today was no different. She was on her way home from college, her arms full of art supplies, when she passed by a flea market. The urge to explore flea markets was a legacy from her mother, a passionate collector. To pass one by felt like a dishonor to her memory. She knew her memory, like the antiques there, was slowly fading, becoming a relic of the past. Yet, she clung to it, much as this market clung to its existence amidst the city's relentless march of progress.

She stopped by a seller's table that had kimonos with beautiful traditional patterns, and were crowded with interesting items from forgotten eras—rusted keys, imare porcelain ware, lacquerware and piles of tattered books. But it wasn't the old trays and trinkets that caught her attention. It was a small spool of silver thread, sitting in a bamboo container that lost its lid. It was the perfect color for the scarf she had been working on. Aiko traced the spool and gasped at it. 

The seller, an elderly woman with silver hair that matched the thread, glanced up as Aiko approached. Her eyes were sharp, unnervingly so, and her voice rasped like dry leaves. "Ah, I see you've found it. The Thread of love."

Aiko blinked, unsure if the woman was joking. "The Thread of Love?"

The woman nodded slowly. "Yes. They say it binds souls together. It binds you only if you truly need each other. A single thread can alter the course of your destiny." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But be warned, child—unraveling it comes at a great cost."

Aiko smiled politely, but something in the woman's eyes made her feel uneasy. "I'll just take a look," she said, picking up the spool, its weight surprisingly heavy in her hands.

The woman didn't say another word, but her eyes followed Aiko closely as she paid and left. As Aiko stepped outside the market walking home, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just made a decision that would change everything.

Late at night, Aiko couldn't sleep as usual. As she sat at her desk, she held the silver thread between her fingers, its smooth texture slipping through her hands like liquid. She had no intention of using it—after all, what could one small spool of thread possibly do? But there was something about it, something that made her want to test its power, to see if the seller's words were more than just a story.

Aiko threaded her needle, the silver shimmering against the soft fabric of an old scarf she had been working on. She embroidered a simple pattern—a Lotus flower, delicate and intricate—and as she stitched the final loop, a strange sensation washed over her. It was subtle at first—an icy chill in the air, the softest brush of something familiar—but when she looked up, she froze.

Kaito stood in the doorway of her bedroom.

A tall and lean, easily reaching six feet, stood before her, clad in a black suit, his age seemingly hovering in his early thirties. His right hand is confidently in his pocket and the left hand is glued to his body.

Aiko felt an uneasy knot twist in her stomach. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes flickered to the scarf she was holding that she just embroidered a lotus on with the silver thread.

Aiko's heart pounded against her ribs, her face paling and panic clawed at her throat as the terrifying realization dawned – a thief broke into her house. Before she could react, Kaito moved with unsettling speed, reaching her in an instant. His hand, icy and pale, clamped over her mouth, silencing her terror. He encircled her with his arm, pinning her against him, his body a suffocating weight. Aiko thrashed, desperate to break free.

'I'm not here to steal,' he growled, his voice a low, rasping sound. 'Calm down, Aiko.'

"Is that… the thread?" Kaito asked, his voice low, dangerous even.

Aiko's heart skipped a beat. How did he know? She hadn't told anyone about the spool, and certainly not about the strange sensations it had caused.

Before she could answer, Kaito's gaze hardened, his posture shifting as if he were ready to spring into action. "You don't know what you've done," he murmured, stepping closer. "That thread… it's not just a piece of fabric. It's a key—a key to something dangerous."

Aiko backed away, her mind racing. "I don't understand. What are you talking about? Who are you?"

Kaito's eyes softened, just for a moment, before his expression darkened again. "I'm someone who's been sent to retrieve that thread. And you're in danger."