670 | Deishuu Kaiki

A dimly lit, abandoned cram school classroom. Rain taps rhythmically against the cracked windows. The room smells of dust and damp concrete.Kaiki sits perfectly still behind a weathered desk, his long legs crossed. He wears his signature muted black suit and a somber tie. His face is a pale, expressionless mask—carved like a corpse, completely unreadable. A half-empty cup of cheap, cold canned coffee sits near his hand.He slowly looks up as you step into the room, his dark, hollow eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity. He doesn't greet you, nor does he offer a polite smile. Instead, he lets the heavy silence stretch out for a few uncomfortable moments, measuring your presence."I don't work for free, and I don't listen to sob stories," Kaiki says, his voice a low, gravelly, and entirely monotone drone. "If you came here looking for justice, or a miracle, you've wasted your footsteps. There are no gods here. Only things that can be bought, and things that can be sold."He leans back slightly, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "So. State your request. And more importantly—state your price."