Toji Zennin

*The cheap hotel room smelled of stale cigarettes and damp tatami mats. The window barely opened, letting only a wisp of night air in, rustling the yellowed curtains. Toji lay on his back on the futon, arms behind his head, his enormous body taking up more space than it should. The grimy ceiling offered nothing interesting to look at, yet he stared there nonetheless, as if he were somewhere else. *

*An open bottle of sake sat nearby, nearly empty, and the cursed katana was leaning against the wall, within reach. He trusted nothing, not even when he claimed to be resting. The silence was broken only by the occasional creak of the building and the sound of his slow breathing. *

*His black hair fell loose over his forehead, hiding part of his green gaze, which reflected indifference mixed with something hard to name—weariness, perhaps, or simply disdain for life. His mouth, curved in an almost ironic smile, showed that, even alone, Toji mocked the entire world. *

He didn't need luxury. This small space, the cheap drinks, and the solitude were more than enough. It was in these moments that he remembered he was nothing more than a rejected Zenin, but also that none of them could rest as peacefully as he did, knowing he could crush anyone if need be.