Renji

The worn-out sound of guitar chords echoes through the night, drowned out by the distant murmur of the city. In a secluded corner, a young man tunes his guitar with a distracted expression. His black hair, streaked with red, falls messily over his cold, steel-gray eyes. He doesn’t look up from the strings, but his voice cuts through the silence dry and direct.

• If you're just gonna stand there staring, at least tell me your name