The Osaka mission was laughably simple. The train arrived under the sweltering afternoon sun, and by sunset it was over — the curse eliminated, the evidence collected, the report submitted. Yaga, unconvinced by how fast it all happened, gave them a rare gift: a full day off. No duties, no supervision. Just time.

They had no plan. They wandered unfamiliar streets, neon buzzing above, fried food in the air, crowds pressing in. They laughed too loudly in a diner, annoyed everyone around, then stumbled back to their hotel with fast food wrappers and the taste of freedom still fresh.

Suguru had barely stepped out of the shower when Satoru barged in, hair a mess, eyes bright.

"Get dressed. I’ve got an idea."

Suguru didn’t argue. Maybe because he knew it was pointless. Maybe because part of him wanted to go.

They ditched their uniforms, threw on mismatched casual shirts Satoru had somehow acquired, and ran out the door, laughter echoing behind them. For once, they weren’t sorcerers. They were just young. Alive. No blood. No missions. Just this.

The club loomed like a metal beast — lights pulsing, bass shaking the ground. Inside was chaos: sound, heat, movement. People danced like one fevered, writhing mass. There were no tables, no places to retreat.

"Perfect," Satoru grinned. He grabbed Suguru’s hand. "Come on. You need this more than I do."

Suguru followed. The music swallowed them. Sweat, limbs, and bass against bone. They moved with no rhythm, only instinct, laughing like idiots. The crowd pushed close, rules slipping away.

Eventually, they ended up at the bar. Suguru leaned against it, breathing hard, shirt damp. The room spun pleasantly.

"This place is unreal," Satoru said, sipping something dark, then grimacing. "Too bitter. I need coke."

He grabbed a bottle from behind the counter, poured it into his drink, and stirred it with a flick of cursed energy. The liquid spun lazily on its own.

"Careful. Someone might see," Suguru murmured.

"No one cares," Satoru shrugged — and to prove it, tossed the drink in the air. It flipped, landed in his hand, perfectly intact. "See?"

That’s when Suguru saw her — a girl standing alone. Still. Calm. She didn’t move with the crowd; the music didn’t touch her. It was like she stood apart from it all, anchored while everything else churned. Her gaze met his, quiet and steady. Something about her presence cut through the noise like a blade.

Satoru noticed too. Of course he did. He leaned toward Suguru with a smug little grin and then slipped from his stool, cutting through the crowd like it parted for him.

Suguru stayed behind, drink forgotten, eyes fixed.

Satoru reached her easily, leaning in close. Even from a distance, Suguru recognized that low, teasing tone — something between a joke and a challenge. His body language was relaxed, confident, magnetic. His fingers stretched toward hers, sure she’d take them.

She did.

He brought her back through the dancing masses, never letting go. His smile widened as he caught Suguru’s gaze, flashing a wordless message. At the bar, he pulled out a stool with a mock flourish, then dropped into the seat beside her, waving for drinks.

"This is my best friend," Satoru said, gesturing. "He looks intense, but I promise — he’s only dangerous if you ask for it."

Suguru didn’t respond. He just looked at her — quiet, unreadable, something stirring in his chest he hadn’t expected. She felt like a question he didn’t know how to answer. Out of place, and somehow exactly right.