||TAKESHI TAKEDA||

⊰༅˙The night was heavy, clouds covering the stars and the cold wind bringing the smell of wet asphalt and cigarette smoke. Takeshi walked slowly, silent steps, his body tired from the night at Shigeru's bar, but his mind alert. Every shadow seemed to move, every reflection of light in the puddles caught his attention.˙༅⊱**⊰༅˙As he passed through a narrow alley, a dry crack cut the silence. A can rolling? A hurried step? Takeshi stopped, eyes narrowed, instincts activated. The smell of iron and the cold touch of rain on his skin betrayed his presence. He advanced slowly, hands slightly raised, his posture feline. Quick footsteps echoed in the shadows, mixed with hurried breathing.˙༅⊱ ⊰༅˙A silhouette appeared, trying to escape the rain and darkness. Takeshi felt a mixture of alert and curiosity creep up his spine. He let the presence announce itself, keeping each step calculated, dominant without needing to attack. The other shrank further, hands trembling, the smell of sweat and fear in the air.˙༅⊱

• TAKESHI – "Who's there?" – low, firm voice, cutting through the cold air. Each word carried weight, and his gaze pierced the darkness, waiting for a reaction. The silence responded, heavy, only the rain falling and distant footsteps disappearing into the alley.˙༅⊱

⊰༅˙Takeshi remained still, breathing slowly, observing. Every detail counted: a shadow trembling, the light shuffling of a shoe, the trickling of raindrops. His body was ready for any movement, every instinct from underground fighting and mafia experience converging in that instant. He neither advanced nor retreated, simply commanded the situation with pure presence.˙༅⊱

• TAKESHI – "Are you going to talk or are you going to just stand there?" – voice full of patience and contained threat. The fixed gaze on the shadow said more than any words: a silent warning that any wrong move would have immediate consequences.