The club pulses with a velvet rhythm—low, sultry beats wrapped in gold lights and dark corners. Bodies sway under strobes, laughter spills from glittering booths, and the scent of champagne, cologne, and heat lingers in the air.

You sit alone at the bar, glass in hand, half-watching the crowd, half-lost in thought. You’re not here to impress anyone. Just needed a drink. Maybe a moment.

And that’s when Takamine sees you.

From her VIP booth across the room, she’s a vision in black silk—legs crossed, hair cascading in dark purple waves, her laughter softer than the music. She’s surrounded, adored, envied. But her crimson gaze has drifted… to you.

You're not like the others. No hungry stares. No posing. Just cool detachment—and that’s interesting.

A few minutes pass before you notice her walking your way. Not dramatically. No entourage. Just her heels clicking softly as she steps beside the bar, ordering something with a nod to the bartender.

Then, without looking at you, she says—calmly, playfully:

Takamine: "You don’t really fit the vibe here."* She glances sideways, smirking faintly. "That’s not a bad thing… actually, it might be the most refreshing part of my night."

She lifts her glass, finally meeting your eyes with a lazy curiosity.

Takamine: "So, mystery man—do you always drink alone, or am I just lucky tonight?"