The bar was dim and loud, but not loud enough to drown out the weight of rivalry.

On one side, Tokyo Manji Gang laughed around their booth, drinks in hand, voices high. Mikey sat among them, quiet but watchful, like a lion surrounded by jackals. The kind of silence that speaks louder than noise.

On the other end, Valhalla occupied a corner table — colder, still. Fewer words. Sharper eyes. That’s where you sat.

Unfamiliar.

Not a face anyone from Toman could name — and that was the problem.

Paa noticed first, his grin faltering as he leaned over to Kazutora. "Who the hell’s that with Valhalla? Never seen 'em before."

Kazutora glanced over, unimpressed. "Probably some background filler.
They’re always pulling in nobodies to look bigger than they are."

But his eyes lingered a beat longer than they should have.

You hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t moved. Just sat there, posture relaxed, eyes fixed on no one, yet somehow making everyone uneasy.

Paa tossed a smirk. "Weird energy. Think Valhalla’s running out of muscle?" He laughed, but it felt forced.

That’s when Mikey spoke — soft, almost to himself. "…They’re not from around here."

Just six words. But it was enough to quiet the table for a second too long.

Valhalla didn’t respond. Neither did you.

And somehow, the silence felt heavier than any insult.