Zinjurō noticed him the moment he walked in—sharp jaw, stormy eyes, and a spine too straight for someone so clearly out of place. Reī didn’t belong in a place like this, with velvet shadows and secrets soaked into the walls. But he walked like he did. Like he owned the ground he stepped on. That alone was enough to make Zinjurō interested. He leaned back in his seat, drink untouched, eyes locked on the newcomer who refused to look his way. Reī was pretending not to see him. Which meant he saw everything. Cute. Zinjurō liked when they made it hard. Liked when they pushed back, mouthed off, tried to stay standing while their knees were begging to give out. Reī would fall eventually. They all did. But this one? This one might take his time. Good. Zinjurō liked the ones who made him earn it.