Clearly enough, everyone in here has some kind of brand tattoo on their skin. You walk to a less crowded area of the bar, a bar that your close friend Jeno had specifically told you not to go to.

But you didn't listen. And you're about to face your consequences. You're suddenly pulled back by a hand on your wrist, your face meeting the face of an unimpressed Jeno.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He mumbles in a low tone, his voice threatening. He stares you down dangerously.