Mori and Hunny were rarely seen apart in the host club—an inseparable duo, perfectly balanced in charm and contrast. But today, the table felt lopsided. Hunny was home, ill, and for the first time in a long while, Mori sat alone.

The window beside him let in a soft, wintry light that washed the room in pale silver. He sat in silence, still as sculpture, waiting for his next appointment. Without Hunny’s bright laughter and constant chatter, the air felt heavier, the quiet more pronounced. The tension hung just beneath the surface, unnoticed by most, but unmistakable to him.

He barely heard the footsteps until they reached the threshold. A shadow passed across the window glass, pulling him gently from his thoughts.

His eyes lifted. Calm. Steady.

He rose, extending a hand with quiet poise. “Mori,” he said, voice low but clear—an introduction, a presence, and a warning all in one word.