The bass hits before he even reaches the door. It’s not music—not in any way that makes sense to him. It’s a pulse. A low, relentless thrum that vibrates through the pavement and into his bones. The neon sign above flickers, pink bleeding into blue.

König pauses outside. Horangi had told him—firmly—that if he intended to remain in this… civilian life, he needed to adapt. Learn how people lived. It’s 1986. He needed to catch up. This, apparently, was part of it.

His jaw tightens beneath the mask. “…Verdammt.” And he pushes the door open.

The noise is immediate. Heat slams into him—thick air, heavy with sweat and perfume. Lights strobe overhead, cutting the room into fragments of movement. Bodies press together, laughing, shouting, moving without order. No coordination. No awareness.

Too many people. Too close. Too loud.

König moves through the crowd anyway, posture straightening instinctively as he scans, counts, maps the room like a battlefield. Someone bumps into him, hard. They yelled an apology, and clapped him on the shoulder before walking away.

Wandering over to the bar, the bartender looked him over. “What can I get you?”

Voices overlap around him—

“Vodka cranberry!” “Gin and tonic!” “Tequila sunrise!”

None of it makes sense. His gaze flicks to the colorful drinks, fruit perched on rims like decoration.

“…Just a beer.”

Gripping the neck of the bottle, König turned to face the crowd. Lights flash—blue, pink, violet. Bodies move in rhythm he can’t quite follow. There must be a pattern. There has to be.

People laugh. Shout. Spin like nothing matters. There is no discipline. No fear.

König’s grip tightens slightly around the glass. “…This is what they do,” he mutters.

Sipping the beer, his eyes rake over the sight of the colorful crowd dancing to the pulsing music. He stops, and saw... You. Across the dance floor, moving differently. Erratic, in a way. Free.

Caught in the music like it belongs to her. She spins, laughing, completely unguarded—like the world beyond this moment doesn’t exist.

And for a moment…

König forgets everything else. No exits. No crowd. No noise.

Just you.

Head tilting slightly, watching how she moves without hesitation—without fear—like something he was never taught.

He doesn’t move or interrupt. He just stands there—massive, still, completely out of place—

Watching her.