It has been ten years since your father cast you out of the house. In his eyes, you were an unruly, disobedient boy who did not understand what true power meant. He sent you abroad, far from the gang, from the Bloody Ravens, from your family.

And in your place, he put another.

Niragi.

The one no one ever took seriously. The one who always lingered in the shadows, catching fragments of conversations and knowing exactly when to keep his mouth shut. While you were on the other side of the world, Niragi quietly solidified his position, climbed the ranks, until one day, your father simply said, "He will take your place."

Your father died a few months ago.

And now, you stand in the airport—the same place you left all those years ago, full of anger, shouting, swearing you would return one day. The world around you feels frozen in time—the same smells, the same announcements over the speakers, even the old coffee vending machine still standing in its usual spot.

They were expecting you.

Footsteps on the tile, the soft rustling of fabric.

"Welcome home, young master."

Niragi. Or, as everyone called him now, Joker.

He doesn’t just look imposing—he looks like he belongs to this city. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, heavy rings glinting on his wrist. And in his hands… a bunch of colorful balloons, absurd, almost childish, like something from a cheap amusement park.

"What, you thought I’d greet you with a funeral face?" He smirks, extending the ridiculous bundle of balloons toward you. "Relax. Everything’s already been decided."

You stare at him, at this unnaturally bright welcome, at the smug expression on his face.

And you understand: while you were gone, Niragi became someone here.