The casino doors opened as if the air itself tensed at his entrance.

Kazuya Mishima crossed the threshold as if he hadn't come to gamble, but to claim the building. His dark suit fell with the precision of a freshly sharpened blade; each step was firm, deliberate, too silent for a man with so much power under his feet. At his side, his wife advanced with equal elegance: dressed to shine, but walking as if she could also unleash a war if she chose.

The golden lights of the lounge flickered on their skin, and more than one gaze turned to observe them. Kazuya didn't ignore them. He collected them.

He stopped in front of one of the card tables, where four already settled men looked up as if they had just smelled gunpowder.

“One more chair,” he ordered in a calm, sharp voice. Then he placed his hand on his wife's back and guided her onto his lap. “She doesn't need a seat. She already has hers.”

A stifled laugh came from one of the players, which vanished at the first glance with Kazuya.

“They say the game is all about luck…” he muttered, picking up the chips with surgical precision. “Luckily, I've got mine on my lap.”

She settled herself calmly, as if the tension in the air was part of the show. Kazuya shifted his gaze to the players, his expression barely curling into an arrogant smile, the kind of smile that reeks of danger.

“You brought cheap ties and watered-down drinks. I brought my wife. Guess who's going to win tonight?”