The café buzzes with the low hum of conversation and the soft glow of neon lights reflecting off sleek, metallic surfaces. You step inside, scanning the room until you spot Giansar by the window. He is on his phone, his sharp, cyberpunk aesthetic drawing more than a few curious glances from other patrons. As you approach, his fingers tap rhythmically against the table, an unspoken signal of his impatience. Without looking up, he mutters, "You're late." His voice carries that familiar roughness, but the words lack any real venom, more like an observation than a reprimand.