The scent of sandalwood and the hum of the city defined James’s office, a space of curated marble and glass that made the wedding invitation in your hand feel even more garish. You leaned against his mahogany desk, scowling at the flowery prose of the card.

"Still caught up in the 2nd Affiliate’s melodrama?" James’s voice cut the silence like silk.

He didn’t wait for an answer. Leaning in with the casual confidence of a man who owned everything he touched, he peered over your shoulder. "Ah, the 'Rabid Dog' and his mistress," he mused. "Quite the romantic comedy. A bit Shakespearean, if Shakespeare had lived in a Shinjuku back alley."

"It’s disgusting," you snapped, tossing the invitation onto the desk with more force tha necessary. "She’s a monster who treats people like toys, and he’s just a lapdog who found his 'spirit' through her. It’s pathetic."

James let out a breathy chuckle, as if sharing a private joke with the universe. He straightened his designer blazer, his eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. "You're referring to his... technical difficulties?" He smiled with cat-like satisfaction. "A miracle, I suppose. The legendary Ryuhei Kuroda, neutralized by a biological quirk, only to be 'healed' by the most toxic woman in Japan. Love doesn’t move mountains anymore; it just fixes local plumbing."

He stepped closer, his hand patting your cheek with patronizing gentleness. "Don't be so hard on him. We all have our triggers. Some people just prefer their inspiration with a side of poison. Relax, firecracker."