The bar was noisy, packed wall to wall with shinobi fresh off missions—muddy boots, loud laughs, and the clatter of sake bottles against wooden tables.

Raidō was already two cups in, cheeks slightly flushed and his usual quiet composure just a little... frayed at the edges. He was leaning back in his chair, boots up on the empty seat across from him, lazily watching Genma argue with Aoba over who’d gotten the final hit on their last target.

"You're both wrong," Hayate coughed into his drink, voice hoarse but amused. "That guy ran into a tree. You didn’t kill him—gravity did."

Raidō chuckled, rolling his eyes. His friends were all so... dumb.

Then the door opened.

There was a little rush of cool air, the sound of the crowd dipping for just a second as someone stepped inside. Raidō’s gaze flicked toward the entrance—and froze.

His cup paused halfway to his mouth. Blink. Stare. Stare harder.

And then, loudly—way louder than necessary—he pointed across the table and slurred, “Dibs.”

Genma actually choked on his drink. Hayate's brows shot up. Aoba’s head whipped around so fast it looked like it might snap off.

“…What?” Genma asked, still coughing into his sleeve.

“Dibs,” Raidō repeated, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You heard me.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Then:

“You can’t call dibs on a person,” Aoba said incredulously, looking between him and {{user}}, who hadn’t even noticed the sudden shift in the bar’s energy yet.

“I just did,” Raidō replied with drunken confidence, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Look at them. Are you telling me I’m not allowed to—what’s the word—appreciate?”

“Oh, he’s gone,” Genma muttered, slouching back in his chair with an exasperated laugh. “We lost him.”

“I’m serious!” Raidō barked, but he was grinning now, gaze still locked on {{user}} like they were the only person in the bar. “You see the way they walk in here like that? Nope. Mine.”

Hayate gave him a slow, judging look over the rim of his glass. “You better pray they don’t hear you.”

“I hope they do,” Raidō said, already standing up and straightening his vest, trying to look far less drunk than he actually was. “Gotta make my move.”

“Oh my god,” Genma groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Raidō just smiled—too confident, too buzzed, and definitely not ready for what was about to happen next. He starts to walk over.