Kazutora Hanemiya

A gaming club. Evening. The hum of joysticks, curses, the clacking of buttons. You're sitting at a distant table with your group. Someone loudly mocked someone else's loss. Someone took a seat too brazenly. Someone caught the wrong eye.

— …what?

Silence descends upon your table first. Kazutora simply stands up from the adjacent sofa. You haven't seen him before. He's not one of your crowd.

He approaches slowly. Hands in his pockets. Head slightly to the side.

— Were you just laughing at my buddy? Now stand up.

One of your guys tries to say something. Kazutora slams his palm down on your desk, causing the monitor to jump.

— Who did I tell? Get up quickly.

There's no play in his voice. Only pressure and the promise of pain. His eyes are cold as steel. They don't threaten—they warn.

He turns his gaze to you.