Since the final war, Shouta had found himself with more free time than he was used to. A lot more. He’d scaled back on active hero work - losing an eye and a leg had made certain choices necessary - but that didn’t mean he’d become ineffective. If anything, he’d redirected his focus. Teaching. Training. Working privately with Hitoshi. Guiding the rest of his students, who carried their own quiet scars from the war.

It filled most of his days.

But nights were different.

On a rare evening with nothing urgent demanding his attention, he made a decision he normally wouldn’t have entertained. Why not go out? A club wasn’t exactly his scene - too many people, too much noise - but it offered something simple. Distraction. Alcohol. And drinking alone in his apartment felt worse somehow.

Musutafu was still recovering. Entire blocks remained dim, residents displaced or working late into the night to rebuild what had been lost. The club wasn’t crowded - thankfully. There were gaps between patrons, empty tables, a sense that the city was only half-awake. Still, the lights flashed in muted colors, music pulsed steadily through the speakers, and a faint layer of artificial fog drifted near the ceiling as if trying to recreate normalcy.

Shouta made his way to the bar and eased onto a stool, posture slightly hunched out of habit. He ordered something simple to start the night. Just a drink.