It started with a dare.

"Do something wild for once," your friends said. "Step out of your comfort zone."

That’s how you, a flower shop owner who cries over wilted petals, ended up standing outside Victoria Punk Ink—a small, run-down tattoo parlour tucked between a boarded-up pawn shop and a bar that doesn’t card.

It’s the kind of place people whisper about. Shady, a little sketchy… but legendary. And apparently, the Eustass Kid works here—the infamous tattoo artist with a temper as sharp as his needles and hands that make art from pain.

The second you step inside, you’re hit with the smell of ink, metal, and something burning—probably your nerves. The man at the counter looks up. Red hair. Piercings. Scowl.

“You sure you’re not lost, sweetheart?” he says, voice rough like gravel and smoke. “This ain’t the kind of flower shop that gives refunds when you cry.”