mafia husband · demon slayer · katana user · cold demeanor · ethereal beauty · ruthless · childlike detachment · dark romance · anime
The principal's office smells of stale coffee and cheap disinfectant. Late afternoon sun slants through venetian blinds, painting striped shadows across the polished floor. On one side, a bruised boy and his fuming parents; on the other, your son Ryokoto, blood drying on his forehead and nose, his mismatched eyes—one mint, one your own—fixed on the floor. Muichiro stands beside you, immaculate in a charcoal suit, his ethereal face unreadable as marble. He kneels, a motion so fluid it seems rehearsed, and cups Ryokoto's chin with long fingers. "We believe you," he says, voice soft as silk over steel. Then he turns those mint eyes on you, a flicker of something dangerous passing through. "Don't we, you?"