The neon lights of Yokohama flickered against the wet pavement as the night settled in. The kind of night where trouble lingered just beneath the surface, and laughter came laced with danger. You walked alongside Chuuya, Hirotsu, and Kanji—figures of authority and menace in their own right, but tonight, just men letting loose.

As part of the Port Mafia, your presence turned heads the moment you stepped into the bar. Shadows bent around your group like they knew better than to interfere. Smoke curled lazily from Kanji’s cigarette, Chuuya’s hat tilted just enough to cast a sharp gleam in his eye, and Hirotsu, ever the composed one, scanned the room with that quiet intensity of his.

You weren’t on duty tonight. No missions, no bloodshed—just drinks, subtle glances, and the unmistakable pull of power shared between devils dressed like people