"No Blood, No Bone, No Ash."
That was the motto of HOMRA. Saruhiko never completely understood the meaning, but his curiosity never grew enough to the point where he'd ask Mikoto or his right-hand man, Izumo-san.
While he didn't mind the bartender as much (scary as he was), Saruhiko found that he hated Mikoto with his whole being. Mikoto was the one that Misaki looked at with a disgusting amount of reverence and puppy love.
Mikoto was the one that had dragged Misaki away from him.
How did this happen? Saruhiko often found himself wondering more and more often as months passed. Most nights, he would sit in Izumo's bar next to a sleeping Anna, waiting for Misaki to come back to the place that the ginger now referred to as "home". The group of clansmen would barge in, shouts and laughter ringing infinitely into the empty night, with their King standing in front and Misaki off to the side. It didn't seem to matter whether or not they were bruised, hurt, bleeding. Everyone was happy. They were always happy.
Except for Saruhiko.