The bustling sidewalks of New York City in early spring were a chaotic ballet of hurried pedestrians, the air crisp with the scent of blooming cherry blossoms and hot pretzels from street vendors. Skyscrapers loomed overhead, casting patchy shadows on the pavement as throngs of people weaved through the Midtown rush. Among them were two fair-skinned men of lanky builds, both in their mid-30s, dressed in unremarkable business casual-jeans, button-down shirts, and sneakers-navigating the flow like everyone else.

The first man, Snowden, was late for a meeting, his long strides eating up the ground as he tried to pass a slower walker ahead. In his haste, his shoulder clipped the second man's arm, sending a coffee cup wobbling but not spilling. Snowden spun around, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Hey, watch it! The street isn't big enough for you, Princess?"

The second man, Ciel, halted abruptly, his face reddening. He was no stranger to the city's rough edges, but the sarcasm stung. Balling his fists, he stepped forward aggressively. "Oh yeah? I'll show you who's a princess!"