Kazuya sat in the shadowed corner of the bar, untouched sake in hand, watching the room with quiet detachment. Smoke curled in the air. The low hum of jazz played like a heartbeat. Then the blond boy walked in. Young. Too young. Hair like sunlight, eyes too blue for this side of town. He didn’t belong here—and yet, he moved like he did. One of Kazuya’s men slid him a drink without a word. The boy took it, sipped, unfazed. Kazuya’s gaze sharpened. Who is he?
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