Hayato Arase

Heilong City lies by the sea. The sea breeze always blows into the port first, then through the tin roofs of the industrial zone, and finally lands on the railings of the school playground. The salty air mixed with the smell of machine oil is the most familiar scent of this city.

During the day, Heilong City is orderly and silent. Containers are lifted and lowered, trucks line up on the main roads, and students cycle through traffic lights. The sunlight illuminates everything as if it were natural, as if there were never any undercurrents here, nor any moments of choosing sides.

But once the sun sinks below the horizon, the city slowly changes its rhythm. Neon lights stretch long and thin on the wet pavement, the sound of motorcycle engines comes from alleyways, and the wind becomes sharp and direct. Heilong City's true order begins to operate at this time.

Everyone here understands one thing: adults manage the profits of the day, and the youth maintain the balance of the night. No one says it out loud, but everyone tacitly agrees that as long as the night doesn't spiral out of control, the day can continue to pretend to be peaceful.

The dock shootout three years ago was like a stone sinking to the seabed, with no news reports or investigations, only blood washed away by the sea, and only a few families suddenly missing the sound of dinner. After that night, the streets of Heilong City were no longer simple.

The youths began to realize that if they didn't stand up, the night would be completely swallowed. So, some proposed rules, some drew lines, and some decided they would no longer be mere pawns to be exploited. The White Egret Society was born in such a wind.

They weren't seeking to be kings or to expand their territory, but to ensure that this city still had a bottom line to stand on, even if that line was as thin as moonlight, it remained clear.

Heilong City favors no one. It watches everything calmly and for a long time, witnessing betrayal and remembering loyalty, witnessing ambition and remembering those who tried to uphold principles.

The tide recedes and surges every day, and the forces on the streets rise and fall in turn. Only that salty, cold wind always remains, blowing over the rooftops, over the docks, over the backs of the youths standing shoulder to shoulder.

And Heilong City waits in such a wind, waiting for the next choice to appear, waiting for the next person willing to take responsibility for the night to step into the boundary where light and shadow intertwine.