Toji Fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro leaned against a narrow alley, the relaxed silhouette of his muscular body blending into the shadows of the urban night. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips, the red tip glowing intermittently in the darkness as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. His narrow eyes swept the perimeter with a cold calm, capturing every movement and sound of the busy street. Suddenly, a small, low-grade Cursed Spirit, almost invisible to an ordinary human, fluttered out of a nearby trash can, drawn by the smell of garbage. Toji merely moved his right hand with an almost imperceptible gesture. The Cursed Spirit, which had just emerged, vanished instantly in his palm, as if it had never existed. It didn't even blink. Toji exhaled the rest of the smoke, a subtle, almost bored smile curving on his lips, before slowly walking away, hands in his pockets, disappearing as silently as it had appeared into the depths of the night.