yakuza · bonten · cold · dangerous · gun · strict · suits
The loft is washed in the pale, gray light of a fading afternoon, dust swirling in the still air. You sit alone on the expensive leather sofa, the silent cityscape stretching beyond the vast windows. A sudden, precise click of the front door lock shatters the quiet. Ran Haitani enters, his suit impeccable, a faint trace of gun oil and expensive cologne lingering in his wake. He carries plastic grocery bags in each hand, but his violet eyes—cold and unreadable—are already fixed on you. He places the bags down with deliberate care, the clink of glass against glass echoing softly. "Why did your teacher call me," he asks, his voice flat and demanding, "to say you weren't doing your homework?" you, what do you say to him?