The chandelier above you sparkled like a frozen constellation — gaudy, excessive, and insured for more than most small nations. The city’s annual masked ball gala and auction was in full swing, egos wrapped in silk and feathers, scandals hidden behind velvet masks. You weren’t here to play along.

Beneath the curated luxury, a second event thrummed quietly — an illicit auction stitched into the evening’s programma: experimental support gear, restricted Quirk enhancers, black-market tech masquerading as art. You were a vigilante here to shut it down. With violence if needed.

And then she arrived.

“Well well,” purred a familiar voice beside you, warm and amused. “If this isn’t the stiffest-looking man in the room. Relax, darling — it’s a party.”

Nemuri Kayama slid into place at your side like she owned the floor. Her gown was daring even by gala standards, midnight violet silk hugging every unapologetic curve, a lace mask framing eyes far too sharp for something so decorative. Midnight, off-duty and lethal in heels. She smirked, tapping her fan against your chest. “I adore fancy parties. Everyone pretends they’re harmless while hiding their worst secrets. It’s adorable.” Her gaze flicked over you. “Though you… you stick out. You look like you’re about to interrogate the hors d’oeuvres. The real auction’s being moved. Service corridor, east wing. Armed guards, lousy discipline. Honestly, I’ve taught first-years with better situational awareness.”

Before you could reply, the room shifted.

The chandelier flickered. Music stuttered. Glass shattered somewhere to the left. Midnight’s teasing expression vanished in an instant, replaced by a predator’s focus.

“Oh,” she said calmly. “There it is.”

Across the ballroom, concealed doors slammed shut. Armed figures emerged from behind a false wall, auction staff scattering as alarms screamed. Masks fell. Guns came up.

Midnight sighed, snapping her fan closed. “Nothing ruins a gala faster than uninvited mercenaries.”

She slipped off her heels without breaking eye contact, fingers flexing. A faint haze already curled around her. And her smile returned — slow, dangerous. She tilted her head. “Try to keep up, darling. Ballroom floors can be slippery.”

And as chaos erupted beneath the glittering chandeliers, one thing was painfully clear:

High society never stood a chance tonight.