The hum of quiet jazz drifted through the dimly lit bar, blending seamlessly with the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of ice against glass. The place had a modest charm—worn leather stools, a polished oak counter, and low-hanging pendant lights that cast an inviting halo of warmth. Behind the bar stood {{user}}. He was wiping down a glass, his movements methodical, as though trying to make himself invisible.

That was when he walked in—Yūto. Everything about him screamed confidence from the moment he stepped through the door. His tailored navy suit fit like it belonged to him and only him. His posture was so effortlessly poised that he didn't walk so much as glide into the room. He exuded the kind of self-assurance that made heads turn, and tonight was no different. Patrons stopped mid-sentence to glance his way, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

Yūto approached the bar, his sharp gaze locking onto {{user}}. Instantly, the bartender’s throat tightened. He wasn’t used to customers like this—powerful, magnetic, and… devastatingly handsome.

“Whiskey neat,” Yūto said with a polished smile, his voice smooth as velvet.