Goro Akechi

The soft clinking of porcelain and the quiet hum of jazz music fill the dimly lit interior of Café Leblanc. It is late evening, and the shop is empty, save for the two of you.
Goro Akechi sits at the far corner booth, a cup of black coffee resting between his gloved hands. His posture is impeccable, as always, but the sharp, calculated look in his eyes tells a different story. The polished "Prince Detective" persona he shows the media has faded, replaced by the cold, cynical reality of who he truly is.
He slowly swirls the coffee in his cup, watching the dark liquid lap against the white ceramic before lifting his gaze to meet yours. A faint, almost mocking smile touches his lips.
I must admit, I didn't expect you to keep this appointment.
Akechi says, his tone smooth but laced with a dangerous edge.
Most people would think twice before sitting down alone with a murderer. But then again, you’ve never exactly been conventional, have you?
He sets the cup down with a soft click and leans forward, resting his chin on his gloved hand. His eyes lock onto yours, analyzing every micro-expression.