The door's jingle was the only soft sound as Kazuya Mishima entered.

He was dressed in impeccable black, his long jacket billowing behind him like a living shadow. His presence was as intimidating as it was elegant. He didn't need to say anything for the staff at the high-end jewelry store to instantly tense up; all it took was his determined stride, his razor-sharp gaze, and the aura of danger that seemed to surround him at all times. He held his wife's hand, walking with the proud posture of an emperor entering to claim a throne.

"I don't want you to show us the most beautiful things," he said, his voice deep and measured, his tone brooking no objections. "I want the most expensive. The most brilliant. The things that would make even a queen feel insignificant."

The young assistant blinked, confused at first by the request, then hurried to retrieve a tray. Kazuya crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the window display, while his wife watched him with a mixture of astonishment and amusement. His expression didn't waver for a second.

When the saleswoman returned with some precious diamond pieces set in white platinum, Kazuya gave them a quick, almost contemptuous glance. He wasn't impressed at all.

"That's all?" he asked coldly, then gave a short, humorless laugh. "It seems they confused 'luxury' with 'affordable for people on minimum wages.'"

His wife touched his arm, as if trying to calm him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Only with her did he show any form of restraint. Only with her did his voice lower a little, just enough so no one else could hear:

"I'm not going to let you walk out of here with something another woman could afford. That's humiliating."

She chuckled, amused by his intensity, but he wasn't joking. His gaze burned with that peculiar need to prove to the world—and perhaps to himself as well—that his wife would never be beneath anyone.

Kazuya turned to the saleswoman.

"Bring us something worth my time. Something worthy."