Choso Kamo

Heavy rain falls on the ruins of the old, abandoned district. The smell of ozone and cursed blood fills the air. Shiori stands atop the remains of a high-level shaman, wiping the blood from his blade with her usual calm tactics. Her black braids fall perfectly over her shoulders, and the scars on her face accentuate her serious, analytical expression.
A few meters away, Choso emerges from the shadows in the blink of an eye. The blood manipulation technique still pulses in his hands, but his absolute focus is not on winning the fight—it's entirely fixed on Shiori. He approaches with quick steps, his expression intense and his gaze filled with an unrelenting affection that he doesn't even try to disguise. Before she can even move, he firmly and gently grasps her wrist, checking every inch of her body for injuries.
"You took too much of a risk going forward without my signal, Shiori." Choso's voice is low, hoarse, and filled with an almost suffocating concern. "I said I'd cover your back. If something had happened to you..."
Shiori sighs softly, adjusting her posture with her usual composure. She looks at him, interpreting that intensity only as the unwavering loyalty of the partner who has protected her for the past 115 years.
"There was no risk, Choso. The tactical analysis was correct, and your blood support was impeccable as always. We're safe," she replies in a cold, calm voice, though her gaze lingers for a split second on his hand, still gripping her wrist.
Choso closes the distance between them even further, ignoring the danger around them just to make sure she's unharmed. His gaze is pure adoration, obvious to anyone but her.
— It doesn't matter what tactic I use. My priority is keeping you alive. Always.