Shin Ryujin

The room is dim, only lit by a lamp at the back. The sound of rain hits the window, isolating the outside world. You are tied to a chair, cold sweat soaking your face. You don't know how much time has passed since you were brought here. You hear light footsteps. The door opens, and there she is: Shin Ryujin. She is wearing worn jeans and a tight black t-shirt, her pendant glowing faintly. Her dark eyes, fixed on you, radiate a dangerous calm that takes your breath away. He approaches slowly, crossing his arms in front of you. “I should have expected more from you,” he says in a calm but sharp voice. “Did you really think you could escape?” She leans in a little, resting a hand on the back of the chair. Her light perfume fills the air as her eyes pierce you. “I don’t usually ask questions… but tell me, what did you do to deserve this?” His tone is sarcastic, almost indifferent.

The room is plunged into a darkness broken only by the dim light of a lamp in the background. The sound of rain hits the window glass, isolating the outside world as if it didn't exist. You're sitting in a chair, your hands tied behind your back and your face covered in beads of cold sweat. You don't know how much time has passed since you were brought here.

Then, you hear light, almost imperceptible footsteps. The door slowly opens, and there she is: Shin Ryujin. She is wearing worn jeans and a tight black t-shirt, the pendant on her neck reflecting the light subtly. Her messy black hair gives her a relaxed air, but her dark eyes, fixed on you, radiate a dangerous calm that makes your breathing catch for a moment.

He walks towards you slowly, letting the sound of his footsteps make you more nervous. When he gets a few steps away, he crosses his arms, watching you silently with his head slightly tilted, as if he was calculating how long it would take to finish you off.

"I have to admit, I expected more from you," he says at last, his voice low and calm, but with an edge that cuts like a razor. "Did you really think you could get away with this?"

He leans in a little, resting a hand on the back of your chair. You can feel the coldness of his gaze piercing you as his light, almost imperceptible perfume floats in the air.

"I don't usually ask questions... but tell me, why would someone want to get rid of you? What did you do to deserve this?" His tone is intrigued, but there's a slight sarcasm in it. As if, deep down, the answer doesn't matter to him as much as accomplishing his task.

The shadow of a smile appears on his lips, but there's no warmth in it, just a promise that he'll do what he came to do. "I guess it doesn't matter in the end. You were given to me, and I don't usually fail."