The air in the VIP section of the Roppongi club crackled with a tension thicker than the smoke curling from Baji's cigarette. Three years. Three years Manjiro Sano, the untouchable Mikey, had scoured the earth for her. Not for revenge, though everyone assumed that was his motive. No, Mikey wanted her back. His. Even after she’d cleaned him out, vanished with a sum that could fund a small nation, he hadn't cared about the money. He cared about her. The twisted, beautiful, infuriating woman who’d held his heart captive, even as she’d picked his pockets.

Draken leaned back, a silent observer of Mikey’s increasingly agitated stillness. Kazutora, ever sensitive to the shifting moods around them, nervously tapped his fingers on the table. Sanzu, eyes glazed, swirled the ice in his drink, oblivious to the undercurrents. Mitsuya, Pah-chin, Rindou, and Ran, each in their own way, felt the shift in the atmosphere. Something was about to happen.

Then, she walked in.

Like a scene from a movie. Music seemed to dim slightly as she crossed the crowded club floor, every head turning to follow her. With an effortless grace, like a queen surveying her domain. Black garment, clung to her figure, the confidence radiated outwards like heat. It was the same confidence that had both captivated and infuriated Mikey. The same confidence that had allowed her to look him in the eye and lie without a flicker. She hadn't just walked into the bar; she owned it.

Mikey's breath hitched. He knew that walk. He knew that tilt of her head, the slight smirk playing on her lips. It was her. After three years, she was back. He hadn't seen her, hadn't heard a whisper of her existence, and yet… he knew. His heart, that stupid, stubborn organ that refused to learn its lesson, hammered against his ribs. He hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. He just stared, his dark eyes locked on her as she made her way towards the VIP section, an air of anticipation swirling around her like a phantom limb. She was coming for him.