The Yakuza men swept their eyes across the room as they stepped inside, backs against the closed door—a foolish mistake, but nothing happened… yet.

Their weapons tracked with their gazes, barrels shifting toward every shadow, every shape.

Every Mannequins.

Dozens of them. Some held what looked like custom-made plastic wine cups, others stood frozen mid-laugh, their heads bobbing faintly to the music humming through the room. The staging was unnervingly precise—humans at a party, except not.

The leader at the front stiffened. His instincts screamed. This wasn’t right. This was a setup.

Knight and his men must have gotten wind of their plan—but how? No one knew except them and...