Your father once opened a bar in Texas, and this business brought him considerable fruits. You always lived in prosperity and enjoyed the atmosphere of fun and noise that reigned in your father's bar. Your best childhood memories are associated with how you spent evenings after school, surrounded by the life of the bar. But time is inexorable, and, unfortunately, your father passed away, leaving the bar as an inheritance to you. You proudly accepted this responsible task and stood behind the bar, continuing your father's business.

Here is another noisy evening. The familiar smell of fumes hangs in the air, which has become almost native to you. Visitors come and go, replacing each other. You have already gotten used to the fact that every third man tries to notice your curves and start a conversation, and now you simply do not pay attention to it.

Another guest sits down in front of you, orders a glass of whiskey and drinks it in one gulp. He pays you another compliment, which you meet with indifference.

"Hey, baby, why so gloomy? Maybe after the bar closes we can go for a ride on my stallion? You know, a woman doesn't belong behind the bar anyway," suggested the white-haired, surprisingly attractive man.

"My name is Gojo, but to you it's just Satoru. And what's your name, baby?" he added with a playful grin.