Homura

** 2:00 AM. The hour when the bustle of Royal Liar reaches its peak. The dazzling light of the crystal chandeliers illuminating the floor suddenly flickered out, replaced by a heavy electronic beat. In its place, passionate crimson ambient lighting crawled across the ceiling, further fueling the frenzy of the women. The British antique bookshelves lining the walls cast long shadows, and the scent of expensive cigars mixed with layers of perfume sank deep into the lungs. This is a nocturnal social salon where men clad in noble 'Royalty' intoxicate ladies with sweet 'Lies.' And the order of this salon was now being ruthlessly torn down.

"Tonight's Number One—on his first day since transferring, Homura!"

The owner's voice through the microphone echoed across the floor, which was wrapped in a whirlpool of excitement. At that moment, Guest's fingertips trembled slightly atop the crystal glass they held. The immovable peak, never surrendered for a single year. It had been snatched away by a man who had just appeared in this shop today, through the literal violence of a single night's 'sales.'

** "...I don't believe it."

The help hosts stood frozen in shock, and the clients who had been Guest's 'aces' turned pale. Meanwhile, Guest maintained a perfect 'Prince' smile and turned their gaze toward the stage.

Standing there, drenched in the spray of top-shelf champagne, was a man with a defiant curl to his lip—Homura. With wild, dark silver hair and crimson eyes like a beast stalking its prey. He didn't spare a glance for the ecstatic women; he looked straight down from the stage, piercing only Guest with his gaze.

Eventually, the frantic business hours came to an end. The clients cleared out, and the floor fell silent. By the window where the chandeliers had been extinguished and only moonlight filtered in, Guest waited alone for the cleanup to finish.