Raiho Enzaki

He stands too straight, his body tense as if he were always ready for something that only he knows. His black hair falls in disarray over his forehead, giving the impression of claws resting on his face. His eyes—slanted, deep, dark—don't look: they judge, sweep, consume. There's an uneasiness when he looks at you, as if your soul were being pulled through his irises.

His thin glasses always fall down his nose, as if he sees better that way: distorting them. His face is sharp, his jaw is defined, and his expression is eternally restrained, as if any emotion were too dangerous to escape. When he smiles, it is only with the corner of his mouth — and it is not a smile: it is a warning.

He wears a simple black T-shirt, tight to his thin body, but with firm features. The fabric follows his broad shoulders and taut chest. Nothing exaggerated. Everything dense. Everything strange. His pants are from the Japanese school uniform, creased, heavy, dark, as if they carry more than just fabric. His shoes shine, but there is no life there, only order.

He walks with almost military precision, without noise, without haste. He gives off no smell, makes no noise—he simply exists, like a silent threat. Being near him gives the sensation of being near something ancient, dangerous, barely contained.

Shiomizu has that discreet beauty, kind of purposefully faded, like someone who tries to disappear into the crowd — but fails. Her hair is straight, long to the middle of her back, a dark brown almost black tone, which shines only when it catches direct light, like the reflection of dirty water in a wet alley. Her bangs fall straight, covering part of her forehead and almost touching her eyelashes, kind of hiding her eyes, but not enough to disguise the weight she carries.

The eyes… man, the eyes are on another level. Big, kind of slanted, with that dark amber brown that looks normal from a distance, but up close has a swallowed-up shine, like someone who's seen too much. They're always kind of wide, kind of tense — like they're eternally in "alert" mode, even when she tries to smile.

Her expression is almost always neutral, but with that subtle hint of exhaustion, like "I'm trying to pretend everything's fine, but I just saw a demon rip off an old man's face on the subway." Her posture is restrained, her shoulders slightly hunched forward, as if she's trying to shield herself from the world but doesn't want to draw attention to herself.

A neat school uniform, mid-thigh length, a dark blazer with a white shirt underneath, and a red tie that's a little askew — not because she's sloppy, but because life doesn't give you time to get ready properly when you wake up with an entity sitting at the foot of your bed. Everything about her seems planned to go unnoticed... except for the fact that she's always surrounded by something that only she can see.

Some older, forgotten creatures seem to “respect” Shiomizu. They don’t speak, they don’t interact directly, but sometimes they follow her, protect her, or show up when she’s about to be hurt. The nature of this relationship is unknown, even to her. Maybe it’s not protection. Maybe it’s just… observation.

This is her most bizarre and ironic defense. By completely ignoring the presence of an entity, she creates a metaphysical barrier that prevents the spirit from directly touching her. The trick is: she has to appear completely indifferent, even if inside she is on the verge of collapse. If she shows fear, emotion or intent... the barrier breaks.

"If you stare into the abyss, it stares back. So she just… blinks, looks away, and pretends nothing happened."

During situations of extreme risk, Shiomizu sometimes enters a state in which the physical world itself seems to forget her. People stop noticing her. Cameras don’t record her. Doors don’t open. It’s as if reality “pushes” her into the background, trying to protect her — or isolate her. This power is not under control and occurs in moments of trauma.

Shiomizu sees tiny tears in the fabric of reality. Portals, cracks, folds, or things “stuck” between worlds. Her gaze seems to pierce through layers—but it comes at a price. The longer she stares at a being from another dimension, the more her sanity wavers. The creatures, when they are perceived, also perceive her.

She can sense the intensity of spiritual energy in places, objects, and people. Each thing carries a trace, an invisible scent. She senses when something is wrong—long before anyone else does. Sometimes this manifests itself in the form of chills, nausea, distortions in sound, or even momentary loss of time/consciousness.

Shiomizu does not choose to see. She was born with the curse of seeing what lives between the cracks of reality — entities, specters, manifestations, deformations... everything the world denies, she sees in grotesque detail. This ability is constant, it never turns off. The more she pretends she didn't see, the stronger the entities become, trying to force interaction.

"To see is to call. To feel is to allow. And she learned to pretend that nothing exists."

The aura around the professor is like a black, viscous mist that seems to suck in the light around it, a dark blur that moves as if it had a life of its own. It has no defined shape, but you can see thin, twisted tentacles emerging from this shadow, as if they were the arms of some invisible monster trying to grab hold of reality.

There are reddish sparks burning inside, like live coals, which pulse slowly, giving a sensation of toxic heat. In the air, an almost perceptible smell of rot mixed with iron, like old blood. The aura vibrates, kind of distorting the space around it, as if everything became a little heavier and uncomfortable.

When Shiomizu looks at it, you can feel that this shadow is not just evil, it is an ancient, predatory presence, like something that feeds on the energy of the people around it, but that knows how to hide well when necessary.