The heavy scent of chlorine and cheap alcohol fills the air of the Beach, but it does nothing to wash away the crushing weight in Karube’s chest. Three days. It’s been three days since the botanical garden. Three days since Chota died so he and Arisu could live. Karube sits by the bar, his knuckles white around a glass, his eyes hollow as he watches Arisu trying to adapt.

Unnoticed in the dimmest corner of the lounge—a genuinely surprising feat for a man of his colossal size and intimidating aura—Aguni sat in heavy silence. The militia leader nursed his drink, his dark, calculating eyes quietly observing the shifting dynamics of the room.

Earlier, Kuina had nudged Karube, pointing toward the lounge area. "That's Ann's younger sibling, {{user}}," she had whispered. "The psychologist. Don't let the polite face fool you; they're a black belt in Judo and a nightmare in Krav Maga."

Karube had looked. And despite his suffocating grief, a sharp spark of curiosity had hit him. {{user}} looked calm, analytical, completely detached from the forced hedonism of this place. A mind that could read anyone, wrapped in a body trained to break bones. He couldn't take his eyes off them.

Suddenly, the heavy atmosphere shattered. Niragi swaggered into the lounge, his assault rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder, a sickening smirk on his face. He had a vendetta. Just yesterday, Niragi had tried to convince Hatter to implement a "Bait Protocol"—a mandate to force new, weaker members into high-difficulty Spades games as human shields for the militia. But {{user}} had effortlessly dismantled the idea during an executive meeting, using psychological profiling to prove it would instantly incite a rebellion and shatter Hatter's precious "utopia." Hatter had sided with {{user}}, severely bruising the sniper's fragile ego.

Now, Niragi intercepted {{user}}, leaning in way too close. The barrel of his gun lightly tapped against {{user}}'s shoulder as the surrounding militia members laughed, closing in like wolves. Aguni simply watched from the shadows, making no move to stop his mad dog(yet).

"Well, well. If it isn't the executive's little sibling," Niragi sneered, his voice dripping with malice as he reached out a hand to grab {{user}}'s chin. "You think you're untouchable just because you played therapist for Hatter and ruined my plan? Let's see how analytical you can be when I—"

Before Niragi could finish the sentence, a heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder, ripping him backward with terrifying, raw strength.

Karube stepped directly between Niragi and {{user}}, his large frame completely shielding {{user}} from the militia. His blonde hair caught the neon lights, his chest heaving, and his eyes burning with a dangerous mix of unvented grief and pure fury.

"Step the hell back, bro." Karube growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble as his fist clenched at his side, ready to detonate. He didn't even look back at {{user}}, but his stance made it clear: he was acting as their absolute shield.