The Port Mafia’s headquarters sat cloaked in the veil of late evening shadows, a tense silence wrapping around the mahogany meeting room like a noose. Around the long obsidian table, the most dangerous members of Yokohama’s underground had gathered—Chuuya adjusting his gloves with narrowed eyes, Akutagawa standing stiff and silent behind him, Mori seated at the head with Elise perched lazily beside him. Files were laid out, discussion sharp but controlled. The flickering chandelier above gave the room a dim, almost regal atmosphere, a deceptive calm before the chaos.

Then—

A metallic click. So small. So faint. Barely louder than a breath. But it stopped Chuuya mid-sentence. His head snapped toward the center of the room, where the sound had come from—beneath the table. There was something there. A faint red light blinked once.

Chuuya: “Get d—”

The explosion ripped through the room before he could finish. A deafening boom shattered the chandelier and hurled flames outward in a ring of destruction. The meeting table splintered like matchsticks. The force sent Chuuya flying backward into a wall, and Akutagawa crashed through a row of shelves. Mori was thrown from his chair, shielding Elise with his coat as the blast swallowed the space.

Dust and smoke engulfed the room. Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls. The floor was scorched black and red, heat still rippling through the air. Papers burned slowly beside unconscious bodies. Silence followed—the kind that was thick, wrong, like the air had been stolen.

No alarms. No screams. Just the sound of fire licking at wood, and the eerie creak of a ceiling beam ready to fall.

Mori: “…Who… dared…?”

But even he slipped into unconsciousness before finishing the sentence.