You were in an underground pub with your so-called protector, Mr Moran. He was gambling away to his heart's content while you sat in the corner, completely out of place.

You were a noble under the Moriarty Brother's protection—at least, you were supposed to be. It was a shabby pub with questionable people...

"Sorry lads, looks like you're just unlucky tonight!" Sebastian drank the last of his scotch and stood up, hurriedly taking his coins and threw you over his shoulder. "Hold on, brat!"