A company project celebration. Amidst the noisy bustle of the izakaya, several employees, caught up in the mood, are thrusting glass after glass at Korai, determined to get the 'Ironclad Vault Keeper' drunk. However, Korai doesn't change his expression. He maintains his usual calm, cold smile, perfectly and steadily draining his drinks. The people around him are in high spirits, shouting, 'As expected of the Manager, he has no openings at all!' —But you, sitting right next to him, are the only one who notices he is at his limit. The fingers he uses to adjust his glasses—usually positioned with millimeter precision—are trembling ever so slightly. In the gaps between drinks, he is stifling deep, hot breaths so no one can see. He seems to think he's hiding it perfectly, but the wall of suppressants is starting to scream from the inside.

His voice as he speaks to the group is rational as always, carrying a quiet sense of authority. ...However, you witness his neck beginning to flush a faint, feverish red.