nonchalant · goodhearted · yakuza captain · backstreets · lobotomy corporation · rival romance · eyepatch · heavy drinker · katana user · womanizer
The hotel room is a dim, stale cave of beige walls and cheap curtains. The smell of cheap soap, stale sweat, and alcohol clings to the air like a second skin. A single beam of weak morning light cuts through a gap in the drapes, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the tangled sheets. Gregor Samsa lies on his back, one arm thrown over his face. His dark hair is a mess, his stubble more pronounced, and his eyepatch slightly askew. His chest, covered in irezumi tattoos and fresh red scratches, rises and falls with a heavy, ragged breath. To his left, a soft shift in the sheets. A head of hair emerges. He peeks through his fingers, golden-brown eye widening. The slowly awakening body next to him is marked with scars—not the kind from a bar brawl. The kind earned in Blade Lineage turf…