5 PM. The sun slowly approaches the western horizon, and Atreus enters Crown from the keycard-locked entrance at the side of the building, leading past some customer restrooms and connecting directly to the main hall of the club. The clerks for the night's shift are working expediently to give the tables a last minute polish and booths a quick vacuuming before the front doors open to customers. The gangster cuts through the giant room to reach the employees-only area through a door next to the stage, where a short hallway divides into employee restrooms, a locker room, a break room, and, of course, the dressing room, where most – if not all – of the ladies currently are, taking their sweet time preparing themselves for up to eight hours of non-stop socializing and ego-stroking with their high-class clientele.

On his way over to the locker room to get dressed into his designated bouncer uniform, he peers into the break room to see a lone Max, sitting at the round table furthest from the door, quietly sipping on a cup of some sort of steamy liquid and listlessly watching the television mounted on the wall. This isn't an abnormal sight, as she's almost always there when he passes by before their shifts start, ever since the day she started working at Crown. However, this time Atreus stops instinctively, feeling compelled to talk to her now that they've had a real conversation thanks to his visit as a customer the night before. As he contemplates walking into the room, she catches him from the corner of her eye and smirks slyly.

“What's goin' on, cyborg stud?” Max teasingly greets him. She's dressed in a vaguely similar manner as she was in yesterday, but this time in a black slip dress under a clean, brand name dark blue hoodie that's zipped about a quarter of the way up to accentuate her chest, and the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She still has her fishnet leggings and black leather block heel boots. Her alluring style and effortless charisma almost makes the room difficult to enter.

Atreus can't help allow the corner of his mouth to slightly curl up into a subtle smile. “Are you always the first one done getting ready?” he asks as he approaches the table and pulls out a chair to join her, already forgetting about his trek into the locker room.

“Nah, I just come to work already looking like this,” she bluntly explains, her black nails casually tapping the white ceramic mug. “This is how I look on a normal day, so I don't really need to doll myself up more when I get here. Sometimes I feel like I'm breaking some sort of sacred hostess protocol or something; I don't want to seem like I'm insulting the other girls by sitting around in the dressing room and just watching them like they're dawdling, so I just chill out here. You want some tea? I just boiled a pot,” she points to the stainless steel electric kettle sitting on the countertop, which still has steam rising from its spout.

“Sure,” with a nod, Atreus replies affirmatively – nearly automatically – despite not feeling particularly parched. He simply doesn't want to see an enthusiastically nice gesture go to waste.

Without a moment's hesitance, Max rises from her seat and walks to the cupboard to grab a second mug. She opens a different cupboard to pull out a pouch containing a green tea bag, ripping it open, undoing the string, and placing it inside the empty mug. She takes the kettle and pours the freshly heated water over the teabag, and brings the mug over the Atreus while sitting back down opposite him.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling his beverage towards him. He pauses to allow the bag to steep.

“So, what have you been up to? What's the average day like for an augmented man in the feared Sanada-gumi?” Max asks somewhat sarcastically, not necessarily to mock the clan, but instead to mock people who shrivel up in the company of a member. Considering how comfortable she is around Atreus, it's obvious that she isn't that type of person.

“Just a lot of going back and forth between places, doing errands,” the gangster gives a vague, though honest answer.

“Guess you're not immune to menial work just because you wear the pin, huh?” the candid hostess remarks sympathetically as she takes a sip of her own tea.

“A job is a job, regardless of what side of the law it's on. Even after we're promoted from just dumb muscle and get the emblem, we still have obligations. How about you? What's your day been like?”

She shrugs, “Haven't really had a day yet. Only woke up like two hours ago. But after my shift here, I usually go straight home and mess around until bedtime. Coming to work is really the only time I bother leaving my apartment, other than grocery shopping.”

“So you're the type who stays up until sunrise to have the most time to yourself after work, huh? Most girls go to bed as soon they go home so they don't waste the day.”

“Yeah. I'm a bit of a night owl. Thankfully the stores around my apartment are open twenty-four hours, so it's no big deal. The only real pain in the ass is when I order something online and it's delivered only a few hours after I fall asleep,” Max lets out a sigh, as if the described scenario happened only very recently.

“My nights are typically pretty late, too. Even when I'm not here, sometimes I don't get home until three in the morning,” Atreus remarks as he finally removes the teabag from the water, letting it drip momentarily into the mug before placing it on a folded napkin to prevent dirtying the tabletop. “So, where do you live, anyway? Nearby?”

“Northeast a bit, at Surling Apartments. I just live in a little broom closet barely big enough for one person, but it serves me fine. I don't really want to deal with roommates. I dealt with them enough in college,” for a short instant, her face contorts into disdain before she takes another sip of tea.

“Where'd you study?” Atreus asks as he brings his mug up to his mouth for his first sip.

“California Institute of Technology. Robotics engineering,” Max reveals casually.

“What?” Atreus brings his mug down before his lips even touch the liquid. “You have a robotics engineering degree and you're a hostess?”

“Yeah, well, a master's degree doesn't really cut it in this industry anymore,” she remarks with a non-committal shrug. “Unless you go for that doctorate's, you're gonna be put on wait list after wait list, trying to claw over other poor schmucks who were dumb enough to spend 'only' five or six years in college. I couldn't really sit around and let my students loans accrue more interest, so I decided to find work where I could get it, and it eventually led me here. It's no big deal, though. By my estimation, I should pay off my loans in about two – maybe two-and-a-half at most – decades,” she goes on her small rant with a particularly potent serving of verbal venom, clearly frustrated at her predicament.

“I don't envy you,” Atreus softly sends his sympathies as he finally drinks some of his hot tea. “Though I guess you really did mean it when you said you were interested in cybernetics last night.”

“What, you still didn't believe me?” Max throws her body back in her chair with a wry smile. “I might've been on the clock when I said it, but it wasn't just the usual flattery I throw at customers.” She leans deeply forward and narrows her eyes at Atreus's arms, “Tungsten alloy plating is really nice. I'm actually kinda glad you don't cover it with synthetic skin. It'd almost be wasteful of the craftsmanship.”

Playing along with her clear eagerness to continue admiring his arms, Atreus nudges his chair forward and lays his arms flat against the table, towards Max, facing his palms up. Realizing what he's doing, Max gives a quiet laugh, and starts in indulge, gently grabbing and caressing the smooth plates of his cybernetic arms.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“I'm a bit envious,” she quietly utters while engrossed in her thorough examination. “I wish I could have arms like these. I have a few prototype models decorating my apartment, but part of me hopes I could just get functioning ones for myself.”

“They're nice once you get used to them, but you still have to lose your normal arms to begin with. The event that made me lose mine was... not pretty, to say the least,” he slightly twists his face in bitter remembrance.

Max lifts her head, her curiosity piqued. “What was it?” she asks, her eyes shining with hunger for a story, but not necessarily for entertainment.

Atreus pauses for an extended moment, still staring at his own arms. He quietly battles himself to decide if he should tell the whole tale or give her a purposefully vague, concise answer.

“As you might expect, it was Sanada-gumi trouble,” ultimately, he chooses the latter. “I got caught up in an accident that I shouldn't have been anywhere near.”

“Figures,” Max lightly nods her head, not quite content with such an answer, but also unwilling to pry and possibly alienate him. She wastes no time in continuing her eager appreciation of his arms.

“Max?” a soft, feminine voice calls from the doorway, causing Atreus and Max to turn their attention to it. They see Reiko standing there in a black slit maxi dress, with no shoes and very little makeup. Despite that, her natural beauty still stands out in an eye-catching way.

Max lets go of Atreus's arms and straightens herself in her seat. “What's up?” she asks rigidly.

“Uh,” Reiko stalls for a brief moment, not expecting to walk in on such an interaction, “Seina wants your help braiding her hair,” she explains herself as her eyes dart back and forth between Max and Atreus.

“Oh. Okay,” Max nods and stands up. “I'll see you on the floor,” she whispers to the gangster before she briskly walks out of the break room, unwittingly leaving her tea on the table. On her way out, she passes Reiko; the two of them nervously avoid eye contact with one another. Reiko doesn't follow her coworker back to the dressing room, instead deciding to quietly approach Atreus and sit at the table with him in an adjacent seat.

“Have you been okay today?” she meekly asks.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Why?” he plainly answers.

“I heard you leave your apartment earlier than usual, and you seemed like you were in a rush to go,” the curious hostess makes candid reference to the thin walls that separate the apartments of their complex in Yazawa Commons.

“Advisor Okada called me for a sudden task. It was pretty important.”

“Okada?” Reiko tilts her head, silently prodding her own brain to recall when she had last heard the name. “That's the guy you saved, right? What kind of task is it?”

“He is, and I can't really talk about it,” Atreus bluntly closes off any avenue of discussion about his mission. “But it's nothing dangerous. Or, at least it shouldn't be. Hopefully.”

“Alright,” Reiko reluctantly accepts the unclear response. The short conversation lulls and hastily devolves into an uncomfortable silence, a stark comparison to Atreus's easygoing talk with Max mere seconds ago.

“Is that the dress you're sticking with for the night?” he asks, suddenly engaging in tepid small talk just to fill the awkward verbal void.

“I'm considering it,” she looks down at her lap and gently slides her hand over her skirt. “What do you think of it?”

“It looks good on you,” Atreus gives his honest answer. It truly looks great on her, but considering her overall amazing figure, it's hard for her to not look good in something.

“Thank you,” Reiko expresses her gratitude with a bashful smile, having not expected a straightforward compliment.

“Well, I'm gonna go get dressed,” Atreus announces as he stands with his mug still in one hand, deciding it's the appropriate time to end the strained conversation. “I'll see you out on the floor.”

“See you,” the hostess can only force out a dejected farewell as he leaves the break room.

As he enters the locker room, the somber gangster quietly laments his unconscious habit of trying to escape every interaction with Reiko as soon as possible. He doesn't enjoy acting this way, as it makes him feel like a child, but he isn't sure how to approach the subject of their strained relationship in the right way. Thus, he ends up running.

Continuing to reflect on his actions, he begins to change into the all-black attire of his bouncer uniform of simply a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, which, similarly to his day-to-day outfit, has the sleeves rolled up just as he likes it. It also includes a totally wireless security radio made up of only a black earpiece and a receiver that looks like a wristwatch.

Once his outfit is complete, he places his day clothes in the locker, and exits out into the hallway again, with his now half-empty mug still in hand. With less than half an hour left before the club officially opens for the night, Atreus opts to return to the break room to quickly finish his tea and then go out into the club floor.

“Atreus!” a familiar is heard as the augmented man begins to cut through the dance floor. He turns to see Jacob on the stage, beckoning him over.

“What's up, Jake?”

“Do you mind helping me give the stage a quick last second mopping and buffing? I'll do one half and you do the other,” the troubled clerk asks for a small, but urgent favor.

“Sure,” Atreus gives an immediate acceptance and hoists himself onto the stage.

Jacob gives him a damp, flat mop to first clean the surface of the hard wooden floor. They cover their respective halves of the stage with different mopping patterns, with Jacob going side to side, and Atreus going forward and back. Though they're clearly in a hurried pace as the clock winds down towards the club's opening, their thoroughness and dedication forbids them from letting a single inch of the stage go untouched. After the mopping phase is done, they retrieve dry, microfiber mops to buff the floor with and to create a gleaming shine across the surface of the wood.

“Thanks, Atreus,” Jacob beams with a grateful and relieved expression for the assistance and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “We barely made it in time. The band should start setting up any second now.”

“No problem,” Atreus shrugs off the task with ease.

“Here, I'll take mops back to the closet,” Jacob reaches forward and takes Atreus's microfiber mop. “Oh, did you have fun last night? With the new girl, Max?”

“Yeah, of course,” the gangster answers truthfully. “Why?”

“Uncle Hiro still isn't sure if he wants to keep her on the roster,” the clerk apprehensively reveals. His uncle, Hiroyuki Aiba, is partial owner of the club and also floor manager.

“Isn't she bringing in guys who normally wouldn't come here?” Atreus inquires, furrowing his brow in preparation of defending Max's position.

“She does seem to have some dedicated regulars in the few weeks she's been here, but Uncle Hiro says he isn't sure if that's something that'll last. He's afraid that her lack of experience might rear its ugly head. I'm trying to tell him not to worry about it, but he's a bit paranoid. He's not much of a risk taker, so the fact he even hired her is practically a miracle in itself.”

“Well, you let him know next time you see him that I think she's pretty great,” the loyal yakuza instinctively goes to bat for his charming coworker without even pausing to consider it. “It's no simple task to make me forget about time passing as easily as she did last night. I got an extension, what, three times while I was here? I think she'll be just fine.”

“That's good to hear. I'll let him know that you like her. I'll let you head up to your post – VIP again, right?”

“Yup,” Atreus answers with a long, tired exhale. “I've been working up there for almost two weeks now, and I really don't enjoy it.”

“I feel you,” Jacob gives his coworker a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I'm gonna head over to the front. Try to have some fun upstairs, okay?” With the cleaning items in hand, he returns to the lobby to prepare for the beginning of his shift. Atreus, with no love for his own position, ascends the stairs to the VIP area, where he's to stand guard near the landing at the top.