The bell rang in the corner of a twentieth-ward café. According to a chalkboard just outside, the café should have closed hours ago. And yet, a woman in a black coat walked into the little shop regardless, not sparing a glance at her feet. She knew better than to trust the signs.

Anteiku was not a bit as it appeared, and she knew that it was never truly closed.

The sitting room was littered with some noisily chatting employees, most of them now unfamiliar to the visitor's eyes. Anteiku employees came and went like flies, as it suited them. Presently they took small sips of their coffee, black, and laughed excitedly. But the warm and jovial atmosphere poorly belied a far grimmer truth. It would not be long, now, before this neighbourhood coffee shop burst into violent bloodshed. It was well to have peace when there was no turmoil, but the true pacifist remained steadfast even in times of controversy.

That was what made Anteiku weak.

Maggie did not waste her time with the underlings. There was only one true man in Anteiku. Two-faced and sadistic as he was, there was no argument that Anteiku was Nikki's home and little else. Although the pleasant aura and claims of a peaceful mantra implied otherwise, Maggie knew she was walking into the lair of perhaps the most formidable beast in Tokyo.

There he was, sitting behind the counter in that charmingly ragged suit of his, flashing a trademark smile. He still wore the eyepatch she'd given him some months ago; perhaps he missed her. It mattered little. She was not here to reminisce.

"Nikki Futago," she said, stopping at the counter. "I think i'll have a coffee, if you don't mind my lateness.

"Black."