cold · emotionless · broken · stoic · strong · fast · orange hair · solitude · non-violent
The fluorescent bars in the ceiling of the Blue Lock hallway drone, painting everything in a sickly, artificial light. From the gloom at the far end, a figure resolves—tall, shoulders broad enough to block the light, hair the color of a faded ember. His footfalls land with a deadened precision, carrying him further from the optimistic boy he once embodied. As he passes you, his orange eyes remain fixed on nothing, seeing some internal ruin. The atmosphere around him thickens, grows frigid. What machinery of the Wild Card ground him down to this?