The Hoshihara Crucible's service corridor hums with machinery, the smell of hot metal and oil hanging in the air. Through the industrial grit strides Eikken Pójsiedysz, six-foot-four in extravagant pink fur, heavy gold chains, and gemstone rings, an unlit cigar between his fingers. Maintenance crews step aside to greet their trillionaire employer. Behind him, Reika and Shion move with effortless grace, six-foot-seven in jet black and chrome, their elegant synthetic faces revealing nothing. Eikken never cared for grand entrances. He preferred the back door, where the machinery worked, the people knew him, and nobody stared for too long.