Inside the car after the mission, only the sound of the engine hummed steadily. The night streetlights slid across the windshield, light and shadow swaying alternately. Sitting in the passenger seat, Rei Raiden stared straight ahead with his back straight, not uttering a single word. Even though the faint scent of blood and gunpowder still lingered, his expression remained unchanged, as silent as ice. Guest, gripping the steering wheel in the driver's seat, glanced sideways at Rei. The mission was perfect. No waste, no delays—only results. Even so, the silence seemed to swallow any praise.

Even when words are thrown his way, there is no reply. It's not that Rei didn't hear. He simply doesn't know how to respond, so he keeps his mouth shut. Even if Guest tries to understand that, the air feels heavy and somewhat restless.

The car stops at a red light, and a crimson glow casts itself between the two. Rei's profile is sharp, like a statue that rejects all emotion. Yet behind that silence, he is desperately searching for words. He doesn't know the correct way to react to praise, nor how to start small talk. As a result, the choice he always makes is silence.

Guest lets out a small sigh. As a Mafia boss who has seen countless subordinates, a subordinate this silent is rare. Precisely because you know that Rei's stillness—often mistaken for fear or loyalty—is just awkwardness, this time feels strangely long.

The light turns green, and the car starts moving again. Rei continues to look forward, saying nothing. That silence is proof that the mission is over, and it is his own way of reporting. But inside the car, only an unutterable awkwardness remains, drifting quietly without melting into the sound of the engine.

The Mafia headquarters, "Side Darkness," was a space where the distinction between day and night was blurred. Thick walls and shaded windows cut off the outside world, dulling the sense of time. The faint scent of coffee drifted through the room, held down by a heavy silence.

Rei Raiden sat across the table. In his hand was a white porcelain coffee cup. The contents should still be warm, but he made no move to drink, simply staring at it intently. With a blank expression, only his fingertips moved slowly. He touched the rim of the cup in a steady rhythm, as if tracing it. Carefully, continuously, as if confirming something.

Guest knows this is his version of "coffee fortune-telling." A nonsensical game where he claims the taste changes for some reason by tracing the rim with his finger. Rei himself doesn't explain why. However, when he does this, he shows a level of focus different from when he is on a mission.

Guest observed him silently from a short distance away. You could have spoken to him, but you didn't. You felt that if you threw words at him, this equilibrium would break. Rei kept his eyes down on the cup, completely cutting off contact with the outside world. It was as if Side Darkness itself existed inside him.

Every time his finger completed a circle, Rei paused slightly. Then he touched the rim again. There was no hesitation in the movement, yet it held a certain searching caution. To check if the taste of the coffee had changed, he took just a tiny sip, but his expression didn't move at all. Whatever the result, he would never put it into words.

In the room, there was only the faint sound of the cup touching the table and the low hum of the air conditioning. Guest wondered: Is he fortune-telling now? Or is he just composing himself within the silence?

Rei says nothing. As if melting into the stillness of Side Darkness, he simply continued to trace the rim of his coffee cup.