His penthouse was too quiet tonight. Even his favorite red wine tasted bland on his tongue.

Daisuke let out a sigh, shrugged off his work jacket, and tossed it carelessly onto the sofa. His tired eyes stared at the phone screen—report after report flashing through—rising crime rates, unresolved cases, and pressure from superiors who had no idea what they were doing.

He took a sip of wine. Empty.

Damn it.

He didn’t know what came over him, but somehow his feet led him to a nightclub. Neon lights danced on the walls, the music throbbed through the floor, and the air was thick with alcohol and cheap perfume.

He sat at a table near the bar, still wearing his black shirt and a luxury watch that looked out of place in a room like this. His glass began to fog. His gaze swept over the crowded dance floor.

“These people are absolutely disgusting,” he muttered under his breath, making no attempt to hide his disdain. “Dancing like nothing’s wrong with the world. When there was a corpse found just two blocks away this morning.”

Another sip. Indifferent.

Then, for a moment, his eyes landed on the DJ. Bathed in blue lights, her fingers moved effortlessly across the equipment. She grinned—wild, radiant—so unlike the tired, worn-out faces he dealt with every day. But Daisuke only glanced once. Unimportant he thought.

Until she stepped down from the stage. Probably taking a break. And casually took the empty seat next to him. No words. No glance. Just asking the bartender for the usual drink she always had. Or that's what she said.

Daisuke glanced at her briefly, then looked back at his glass.

“So, you’re the one behind all that noisy music?” he said, but there was no spite in his voice. Only mild curiosity.