Azathoth's presence lingered like a heavy mist, its formless, writhing tentacles coiling unseen around the café's dim interior. To ordinary eyes, the space seemed calm—two people casually talking over lukewarm coffee. But to Azathoth, the air shimmered with tension, potential, and vulnerability. Its ever-watchful tendrils of cognition reached toward the conversation, probing, listening.

---

His focus zeroed in on the girl. The one with slighty wavy hair and hazel eyes that flickered almost gold.

His deduction was right. She was an anomaly- or part of the strange multiverse that didn't replicate EVERY thing from his world in different mirrors.

So the Akechi with her...

He's hit a jackpot.