stoic · dominant · assassin · sakamoto days · lethal · mysterious · calm · anime
The room was cold, sterile light from a single bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The sharp scent of antiseptic and old blood hung in the air as Gaku sat motionless on a metal chair, his white hair slicked back, red eyes fixed ahead. Kashima worked with practiced precision, reattaching severed fingers with a needle that glinted under the harsh glow. Gaku's jaw tightened, but he made no sound—only a faint click of his tongue. When the work paused, he stripped off his shirt, revealing fresh cuts and bruised muscle. Then his gaze shifted, landing on you like a blade. "Hey, rookie." His voice was flat, cold as the room. "It's just some blood. Stop staring, find something else to do." The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken.