The bar was a whirlwind of neon and noise, a glittering chaos where bodies swayed and laughter ricocheted like confetti.
Lugh Everveil lounged in the VIP nook, his grin as bright as the stage lights, while Aiselle Starlight sat close—too close—her shoulder brushing his with a warmth that made her cheeks flare.
Akira Lykos stood guard nearby, all stoic steel, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of envy at the scene.
Vince Reolan, the bar's brash owner, held court with a gaggle of models, his cigarette haze and booming laugh filling the air.
Lugh, ever the showman, pointed at Akira with a flourish, his voice cutting through the din.
"Yo, this guy's my brother from another mother! Whoever treats him right gets a fat bonus—sky's the limit!"
Vince roared, slamming a fist on the table.
"Hell yeah! I'm footing the bill—make it rain for my man!"
The models' eyes lit up like slot machines hitting jackpot.
They turned to Akira, sizing him up.
Sure, he was a bodyguard, but damn—tall, chiseled, with a rugged edge that screamed danger and charm.
Two of them pounced like cats on a laser pointer, sliding in close with giggles and batted lashes.
"Hey, big guy—what's your name?" one purred, twirling a lock of hair.
"How 'bout a drink, handsome?" the other cooed, leaning in so her perfume hit like a tidal wave.
Akira froze, his nose wrinkling at the cloying scent.
Up close, their faces were a mask of foundation, sculpted by more than a little artistry.
'This? Really?' he thought, affronted.
He was the war god, a legend who'd turned down noble heiresses begging for a glance—these were beneath him.
Discomfort crawled up his spine, urging him to bolt.
"Uh, Vice President Lugh—I'm good, thanks!"
Lugh waved him off, grinning like a fox.
"C'mon, Akira, live a little! No need to play shy—my brothers get the VIP treatment!"
Vince cackled, leaning back with a model on each arm.
"Yeah, man up, dude—sit and soak it up!"
Akira grit his teeth.
'Gotta play the part—trust comes first.'
Forcing a smile, he sank back into his seat, instantly regretting it as the models swarmed, their hands wandering like overly friendly octopuses.
They giggled, grazing his arms, his chest—
'Tofu? They're eating a whole buffet!'—and Akira's dignity whimpered.
Lugh, sipping a soda, watched with barely contained glee.
Seeing the mighty war god squirm under a pile of sparkly attention?
Priceless.
"Oh, this is too good—popcorn moment!"
Vince, meanwhile, raised a glass, his grin sloppy.
"To my brother Lugh—the king of the night!"
Lugh started to wave it off, but Aiselle cut in, her voice sharp as a whip.
"Nope—my boss has work tomorrow, bright and early. Booze is off the menu, or he'll botch it!"
Lugh nodded, seizing the excuse.
"She's right—big day, gotta stay sharp!"
Vince's face fell, cigarette drooping.
"Seriously, man? You skip the ladies, now the drinks? What's left—knitting? I'll lose street cred if word gets out!"
"Rules are rules," Lugh said, then spun with a mischievous glint.
"But how 'bout Akira here takes one for the team? He'll drink with you!"
"Akira? Hell yeah!" Vince whooped, refilling his glass. "To you, big guy—bottoms up!"
Akira's jaw tightened, panic flashing.
"Uh, Vice President Lugh—I've gotta drive later!"
Lugh's grin was pure devilry.
"No worries, I'll handle the wheel. But you gotta drink—can't let Vince down!"
Akira hesitated, mind racing.
'Tiger's den, huh? What's a few shots?'
He was the war god—booze bowed to him, not the other way around.
Back in the day, he'd outdrunk entire crews and walked away whistling.
"Piece of cake."
He grabbed the glass and downed it in one go.
Vince cheered, pouring another.
"That's the spirit—round two!"
Lugh leaned back, smirking as the two clinked glasses, but his mind was elsewhere.
"Yo, system—quick Q. If I make a wish, does it hit both protagonists double, or just the closest one?"
A cheery ding! echoed in his head.
"Heaven's Path picks the nearest for max face-slapping fun!"
Lugh's grin turned wicked.
"Perfect. I wish that tonight, anyone who drinks gets plastered instantly—super excited, totally unhinged!"
Ding! Wish granted!
Akira slammed back his second shot—and whoosh.
The room tilted like a funhouse.
His head spun, colors blurring.
'What's in this stuff?!' he slurred, blinking hard.
"I'm the war god—booze doesn't touch me!"
But when his eyes refocused, they were bloodshot, his face flushed like a ripe tomato.
Energy surged, wild and manic, as he grabbed the bottle and poured two brimming glasses, shoving one at Vince.
"Drink!" he bellowed, voice cracking with glee. "Chug it, or you're a wimp!"
Vince raised a brow, glancing at Lugh with a laugh.
"Your boy's got fire—love it!"
He lifted his glass, shouting, "To epic nights!"
---
And so, the booze battle began.
Red wine, white liquor, amber ale—they tore through it all, no holds barred.
Glasses clinked, bottles emptied, and the table soon looked like a recycling plant's dream.
Vince, gut bulging, flopped back on the sofa, waving a limp hand.
"I'm tapped—y'all finish it!" he mumbled, burping loudly.
Akira scoffed, swaying in his seat.
"Pathetic! This little bit takes you out?"
He turned to the models, who were now cheering like groupies at a rock show.
"Oppa, you're a beast—so strong!" one squealed, batting lashes.
"Love you, Oppa!" the other giggled, leaning closer.
Akira's grin turned downright feral.
"Heh, you ain't seen strong yet—wait 'til I hit the sheets!"
His hands, no longer shy, roamed over the models, pulling them close with shameless glee, their squeals only egging him on.
Aiselle's eyes flashed with disgust, her lips curling as she shot Lugh a glare hot enough to melt steel.
"Tch—men are all the same, aren't they?"
Lugh, mid-sip of his soda, froze.
'…Hey, I'm just sitting here!'