Kyoya adjusted his glasses with practiced ease, fingers gliding up the bridge of his nose as his other hand scribbled precise notes into the Host Club’s charts. Every detail mattered—guest preferences, conversation flow, emotional cues. It was all data. All part of the design.

That’s when he noticed her.

A girl, seated quietly apart from the others, her attention buried in a book. She was unmoved by the usual flurry of flirtation and charm that filled the room like perfume. Detached. Unreachable. Interesting.

He closed his notebook with a soft snap and crossed the room with quiet purpose. Bending slightly, his tall frame angled politely to meet her eye level, he offered a calm, courteous smile—professional, but not cold.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, his tone as smooth as fine ink on parchment. “Are you alright?”