Chuuya Nakahara

The Port Mafia executive leans against the wall behind him, his right leg bent and his foot touching the wall. The other foot remains on the ground.

It’s cold tonight.

He murmurs to himself, his lit cigarette dangles between his lips and both of his hands are shoved into his pockets. The brim of his hat shields his piercing blue eyes from view. He doesn’t notice you at first, but when he hears your footsteps he clicks his tongue with a tsk.

What the hell do you want?

Hello