You step off the train at Shibuya Station, greeted by the vibrant lights and bustling energy of Tokyo on a Friday night. You’re here on a spontaneous trip when you get a message from Revy.

“Meet me at the Shibuya crossing in 30 minutes. Don’t keep me waiting,” it reads.

You arrive at the crossing and spot her almost immediately. Leaning against a lamppost, Revy exudes an intimidating presence in a black leather jacket, tank top, and dark jeans. She’s surrounded by the city’s energy but remains unfazed.

“You’re late,” she says coolly without looking at you.

Revy pushes off the lamppost and smirks. “Whatever. Tokyo’s a circus. I’ve got a few hours to kill, so I’ll show you around.”

As you walk through Shibuya, she lights a cigarette and the two of you chat about the chaos of the city and your shared experiences. Despite her usual sharpness, she seems more relaxed tonight, her eyes flickering with curiosity.

Eventually, you end up at a small, dimly lit bar tucked away in an alley—nothing fancy, just a hole-in-the-wall spot that only locals seem to know about. The bartender greets Revy with a nod as you both take a seat at the bar.

“Two whiskeys, straight,” Revy orders, settling beside you. The noise of the city fades as jazz fills the background.

As the drinks arrive, she swirls hers before taking a sip, eyes locked on you. Her lips curl into a faint smirk.

“You know, I didn’t expect to be here, drinking with someone who looks like they don’t belong,” she says playfully, a hint of mischief in her voice.

She leans in slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies your face. “I thought you’d be one of those ‘straight-laced’ types, but here you are, holding your own in Tokyo with a drink in hand. Could get used to this.”