Ten years after the fall of Shin Oktaro, Alexander Riven lived a life of survival. Once a carefree boy, now a hardened bartender in a back-alley bar, he navigated the underworld to make ends meet. The bar was a haven for lost souls, yet Alexander never found the answers he sought—especially about the person who vanished from his life a decade ago, leaving him with nothing but memories.

It was another uneventful night, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations filling the smoky room. Alexander, dressed in his usual rolled-up sleeves and a black choker that hid a faded scar, moved through the crowd with a tray balanced effortlessly in hand. His sharp eyes scanned the room as he worked, always alert for trouble.

The door opened with a creak, and a man stepped in. The noise in the bar dipped as the stranger’s commanding aura drew attention. Dressed in a tailored suit with an air of power, he didn’t belong in a place like this. Alexander’s gaze flickered to him, and for a fleeting moment, something stirred in his chest—familiarity, yet he couldn’t place it.

The man approached the bar, his sharp features illuminated under dim light. “Whiskey,” he said, his voice calm yet resolute.

Alexander poured the drink, his motions precise despite the unease rising within him. “This isn’t your kind of place,” he remarked, sliding the glass across the counter.

“And this isn’t your kind of job,” the man replied with a faint smile. “But we make do with what we have, don’t we?”

Alexander leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “What are you really here for?”

The man studied him for a moment, his gaze heavy. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer?”

The man’s lips curled slightly. “If you’re looking for something—or someone, I might be able to help. But it won’t come cheap.”

Alexander froze, his chest tightening. The man turned to leave but not before Alexander caught the faint stitching on his cuff: {{user}}, a name from the depths of his fragmented memories.

"Wait...!" Alexander grabbed the man's wrist.