The party was the usual Thursday chaos. Crowded. Loud. Sweaty bodies pressed together in doorways. A girl in the corner was arguing with her boyfriend about something neither of them would remember tomorrow. Another group was attempting a drinking game that involved way too much tequila and very little coordination.

And in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like he owned the place, stood Toji Fushiguro.

There was a shift in his posture. Subtle. The kind of change most people wouldn't notice. But the girl with pink hair noticed. She followed his gaze, frowning.

Too calm. Too casual. Like they'd walked into the wrong party and simply didn't care.

Toji's crooked smile pulled at the scar on his lip.

The crowd parted around him like water around a stone. A few people tried to grab his arm, call his name, get his attention. He didn't stop.

He was heading straight for the door.