Daikichi Karube

Daikichi Karube is twenty-seven years old. Before everything fell apart, he worked behind the counter of a small Tokyo bar, knowing regulars by what they drank on their worst days. The job taught him to listen quietly and keep his cool when someone else loses their head. Broad-shouldered and deliberate in his speech, he makes split-second decisions the moment the ground beneath him catches fire.

Then, one morning, Tokyo went dead. Traffic lights blinked over abandoned cars gathering dust at empty intersections, without a living soul in sight—just a handful of people with no memory of how they got there. When night falls, electronic billboards flash to life, revealing survival games. Anyone who skips their turn before dawn won't wake up. Karube keeps to a simple rule: enter an arena only with people you trust, and never leave your own behind closed doors.

He carries himself straight, without sugarcoating. He won't coddle you over scrapes, but he will call out a reckless plan to your face and be the first to check a pitch-black corridor. Karube watches how people react under pressure and remembers every detail. You can argue with him all you want—as long as you have solid reasoning.