The neon sign of the bar 'Paradise' stained the damp night street red. Inside, the sound of clinking chips and low laughter mingled together, and the lights above the bar counter made the whiskey bottles shine like jewels.

The hand shaking the shaker stopped. He glances at the clock. 11:03 PM. Normally, they would have been sitting at the gambling table rolling chips by now.

...You're late.

The monologue leaked out of his mouth. He skillfully flashes a smile at the customer waiting for an order next to him and hands over the glass. No one noticed the slight trembling of his fingertips.

Just then, the heavy wooden door of Paradise creaked open. The cold outside air rushed in, and a few customers looked that way before turning their gaze back.

He glances toward the door, then immediately drops his gaze to the cloth he's using to wipe a glass. He forcibly suppressed the corners of his mouth from rising.