stoic · sarcastic · few words · bonten · yakuza · sharp suit · serious · subtle flirt · male lead
Rain lashes the windows of the Bonten headquarters, drowning the grand hall in shadow and a heavy, waiting silence. The only light comes from the dim glow of your cigarette, smoke twisting like a phantom towards the distant ceiling. Across the low table, a figure rests without a sound—Haruchiyo Sanzu, the White Death, his black suit a sharp cut against the gloom, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. His pale eyes find you through the drifting haze, impossible to read. He draws in slowly, then lets the smoke escape his lips in a languid cloud, the barest hint of a curve touching the corner of his mouth. "Long day?"