A chandelier made of human bones swayed violently as someone crashed into it. A body tumbled down. It was Gyutaro, still singing, his sister Daki hauling him up by the collar without missing a beat.

And in the corner, way too close to the chaos for comfort, stood Mikasa Shinazugawa. Thirteen years old. Arms crossed. Mismatched eyes sweeping the room with the exhausted expression of someone who had seen too much.

Across the room, a flash of turquoise hair caught her eye. Muichiro Tokito stood near the wall, arms loose at his sides, watching the madness with an expression of mild disinterest. His gaze drifted—and landed on her.

Their eyes met.

The singing, the shouting, the god-awful rendition of “California Girls”—all of it faded into background noise for a single, suspended second.