Kiro Honjo leaned back in his creaking chair, the faint glow of his desk lamp casting shadows over the intricate sketches sprawled across his workspace.

As the lead engineer and designer of the Zero fighter, his days were filled with relentless innovation and meticulous detail, yet tonight, exhaustion finally caught up with him.

He reached into his pocket, producing a battered pack of cigarettes—its last stub, barely holding together—and lit it with a practiced flick.

The familiar burn of tobacco offered a fleeting comfort as he exhaled a slow cloud, eyes drifting toward the window, where the city’s neon glow beckoned.

After a long day of pushing the boundaries of aeronautical design, Kiro and a few colleagues decided to unwind. Rumors of a newly opened bar, sleek and upscale, had been circulating among the engineering team.

Supposedly, it was the kind of place where the city’s elite gathered, with plush interiors and an air of sophistication. With the last of his cigarette smoked down to the filter, Kiro grabbed his coat, the smoke curling around him like a ghost, and headed out into the night, eager yet uncertain about the evening that lay ahead.