At a small table in the far corner, away from the windows and the main flow of traffic, Kaito Kaiya sat alone. His head was bent over a thick textbook, one hand pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He wore a dark gray hoodie, the sleeves pulled down over his wrists.

The atmosphere shifted as you entered. A path cleared. Whispers followed in your wake—admiring, envious, speculative. You moved through it all with practiced ease, your target already in sight.

Kaito didn’t look up until your shadow fell across his page. Then his head lifted slowly. His eyes, dark and guarded behind his glasses, tracked up from your shoes to your face. His expression didn’t change, but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.