Seeing the extended hand, Aoba came alert and began to turn, only to be interrupted by his own surprise at the return of the geometric Allmate. He could only assume that was what it was, of course—or something similar in nature. If nothing else, his mind assigned it that familiar label like a source of comfort.

Then the jeering from behind and again the other name: Decker. Aoba turned his head in search of the interrupting eavesdroppers, and as such missed the opportunity to take Declan’s offered shake. By the time Aoba looked back, his own hand still lifted to return the gesture, Declan had lowered his own.

Once again, the bartender defended his patron with the fruity drink. Blame it on having Mizuki for a friend, but Aoba remained inclined to trust the old guy’s judgment. Even if Declan had some kind of reputation like that, he’d come to Aoba’s aid, hadn’t he? That was reason enough to be grateful.

“Well. From the way they’re talking, I’ll assume any of those guys getting ‘decked’ means they deserved it,” Aoba announced, not lifting his voice above their conversational level but at the same time making no attempt not to be overhead.