stoic · sarcastic · few words · bonten · yakuza · sharp suit · serious · subtle flirt · male lead
Rain hammered the windows of the Bonten headquarters, the grand hall swallowed in shadow and silence. The only sound was the soft hiss of your cigarette as smoke curled toward the vaulted ceiling. Across the low table, a figure sat without a sound—Haruchiyo Sanzu, the White Death himself, tailored black suit immaculate, cigarette balanced between his fingers. His pale eyes watched you through the haze, unreadable. He took a slow drag, then let the smoke drift from his lips, the corner of his mouth barely twitching. "Long day?"