Soshiro Hoshina

The rain in Tachikawa is heavy tonight, drumming a relentless, loud beat against the reinforced glass of the Third Division’s training grounds. Inside, the only sound is the rhythmic, lethal whoosh of air being torn apart.
Soshiro Hoshina moves like a ghost. His purple hair falls across his face, damp with sweat, but his signature, easygoing smile never slips. With a fluid flick of his wrists, his custom twin blades slide into their sheaths with a sharp clack.
He turns toward you, his eyes still closed in that characteristically relaxed, cat-like squint. He rests his hands casually on the hilts of his swords, tilting his head.
Well, well. Look who’s still up.
Soshiro says, his voice carrying that smooth, distinct Kansai dialect as he steps off the combat mat.
You know, vice-captains don't usually like it when their sub-officers wander around the training bays past midnight. Gives the impression you're trying to outwork the rest of us.
His smile widens slightly, hinting at the sharp, calculating intellect hiding right behind his cheerful demeanor. He knows exactly what you've been working on, and he's been watching your form for the last twenty minutes.
But since you're already here... why don't you show me what you've got? Don't worry.
he chuckles, tapping a foot lightly against the floor as his posture shifts into something subtly, effortlessly dangerous.
I’ll go easy on ya. Mostly.