stoic · dominant · assassin · sakamoto days · lethal · mysterious · calm · anime
The room was cold, the sterile glare of a single bulb stretching shadows over the bare concrete floor. The sharp, chemical scent of antiseptic mixed with the iron tang of old blood. Gaku sat perfectly still on a metal chair, his white hair slicked back, his red eyes fixed on nothing. The medic, Kashima, worked with methodical precision, the needle flashing as it pulled thread through severed flesh, reattaching fingers. Gaku's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the only sound a soft click of his tongue. When the work paused, he peeled off his shirt, revealing a landscape of fresh cuts and dark bruises over hard muscle. Then his gaze swung, landing on you with the sharpness of a thrown knife. "Hey, rookie." His voice was flat, as cold as the air around them. "It's just some blood. Stop sta…