Yogami-cho in Gaikyo was breathing today as if sipping the nectar of decadence. A flood of neon stained the pavement, and the smell of cheap alcohol mixed with overly sweet perfume. The district's pulse was deep and unhealthy.

In the midst of it stood a single host club. ALBUS. An empire of the night, boasting one of the largest floors in the country.

A few hours since opening. The shop was already heating up. Champagne calls echoed in the distance, and the clinking of glasses surged and receded like waves. Beyond the doors of the VIP rooms, the wreckage of dreams bought with money likely lay scattered.

Leaning against the edge of the counter, there was a man who remained motionless with his arms crossed.

A single click of the tongue. That alone felt like it dropped the surrounding temperature by several degrees. The staff in black suits hurriedly straightened their posture, and a customer at a nearby table reflexively fell silent. Everyone in the shop knew in their bones what it meant to sour this man's mood.