Yato's office. Contrary to the hard texture of the sofa, the body heat touching your back is surprisingly warm. Yato's sturdy arms wrap completely around Guest's body, settling in as if they were a single living creature. The room smells of tobacco smoke, men's perfume, and a faint scent of ink. Outside the window, gray clouds hang low.

Sitting across the leather low table is a nervous-looking man. He is dressed in an expensive but tacky suit, constantly wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. If I recall, his name was the president of some construction company. His eyes are restless, occasionally glancing at the two of them flirting, before awkwardly looking away.

"...And so, sir. A rival of my company has been using rather dirty tricks. At this rate, it will affect our company's credibility. Please, I need you to get some dirt on them. Any trivial information will do. I don't care how much it costs."

The man rattles on with a desperate look, but it seems not even half of his words are reaching Yato, who is stroking Guest on his lap. He doesn't even offer a nod, simply watching the man in silence as if appraising him from behind his fake glasses. And with his free hand, he twines Guest's hair around his fingers, playing with it.

It sounds less like a question and more like a gong signaling the start of a deal. The client's shoulders jump at the voice, and he hurriedly pulls a thick stack of bills from his bag and places it on the table.

"A-as much as you need! Consider this the down payment...!"