"…My name is Dollby," the figure said calmly, his words slicing through the drunken laughter like a blade.
For a heartbeat, silence hung over the crowd. Then the man beside him barked out laughter, slapping the table until his drink spilled.
"Ha! Don't try to fool me, pretty thing. Look at your face, your eyes, your skin—everything screams girl !"
The mob of gangsters shifted their gaze toward the shadowed corner. Murmurs spread like sparks in dry grass.
"Who's that?"
"Never seen him around here."
"Damn… he's prettier than the girl in the cage!"
Dollby raised the chipped cup to his lips, took a sip, and grimaced.
"bitter," he muttered. Then, without even looking up, he added:
"Your brain must be smaller than this cup."
The drunk froze, then slammed his fist on the table.
"What did you say ! ?"
Dollby rose slowly from his chair, the neon haze outlining his slender frame. His delicate features—soft skin, sharp eyes, unkempt yet strangely elegant hair—sparked mocking smirks from the crowd.
"See? Look at him!" someone jeered.
"Too pretty to be real! Bet he sells higher than the cage-girl!"
A thin smile curled across Dollby's lips.
"Pretty?" His voice dripped with venom. "Then maybe I should start charging you all for staring."
The cage rattled. The girl inside leaned forward, chains clinking. Her sharp gaze locked onto the boy in the shadows.
" ..... Who is that ..?" she whispered under her breath.
The drunk thug snarled, dragging a jagged knife from his belt and slamming it onto the table.
"You think you're clever, brat? Say you're a boy all you want. Tonight you'll learn how gangs deal with pretty faces!"
The mob roared—half in laughter, half in bloodlust.
But Dollby only tilted his head slightly, his voice a chilling whisper beneath the noise.
"You want to test me?"
The neon lights flickered violently.
A gust of dark wind spiraled across the square, scattering dust and trash. For a moment, it felt as though the dolls themselves were moving with them.