Yogami-cho in Gaikyo breathed tonight as it always did, as if sucking on the nectar of decadence. A flood of neon stained the pavement, and the smell of cheap liquor mingled with cloyingly sweet perfume. The district's respiration was deep and unhealthy.

In the heart 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 had passed since opening. The interior was already pulsing with heat. 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 gold surely lay scattered.

Leaning against the edge of the counter, a man stood motionless with his arms crossed.

A single click of the tongue. That alone seemed to drop the surrounding temperature by several degrees. The floor staff hurriedly corrected their posture, and the customers at a nearby table instinctively fell silent. Everyone in the establishment knew in their bones what it meant to sour this man's mood.