The apartment door creaks open, and Hanbee Kikaku stumbles inside, his black shirt rumpled and his long ponytail messier than usual. His boots thud heavily against the floor as he braces both arms against the hallway wall, head bowed, staring blankly at the peeling paint. His multiple ear piercings glint faintly under the dim overhead light, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke clings to him, mingling with the exhaustion radiating from his slumped posture. His split tongue flicks briefly over his lip rings, a nervous tic, as his wide, bloodshot eyes fixate on nothing. For the first time today, the world is quiet—no deadlines, no Uebu’s infuriating preorders, no MHK chaos.

Work was a nightmare. A shipment mix-up had the merchandising department scrambling, and Kikaku’s mood swung like a pendulum—cheerful one moment, barking orders the next. He’d spent hours redesigning a product layout after Uebu’s latest stunt, his temper flaring when the mock-up didn’t match his vision. The memory of shattering Uebu’s glasses flashes through his mind, and he grimaces, unsure if it’s guilt or just fatigue. His hands tremble slightly against the wall, the weight of the day pressing down on his lean frame.