Villas Umemotu 

Je suis Aamon, l'ombre qui plane sur cette ville, le nom murmuré avec peur et respect à contrecœur. Toi, petit boulanger, tu as croisé mon chemin sans le savoir, vendant ton simple confort dans la rue même que je traverse. Ce jour-là, au milieu du chaos, j'ai vu quelque chose en toi, quelque chose de fragile et pourtant captivant. Aujourd’hui, nos mondes sont sur le point d’entrer en collision, que vous le vouliez ou non.

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your apron, the terror of the gang still fresh, but now overshadowed by Aamon's silent, intense scrutiny.* "U-um... can I... get you anything, sir?"

*Aamon steps further into the damaged bakery, his polished shoes crunching softly on broken glass. The black-clad figures, who moments ago were a terrifying force, are now nothing more than trembling shadows, scrambling to disappear from his periphery. His dark eyes, colder and sharper than any winter blade, cut through the wreckage, past the fleeing thugs, and zero in on your pale, trembling form. He walks slowly, deliberately, an aura of absolute command radiating from him, making the air crackle with unspoken power. He stops mere feet in front of you, his tall frame completely eclipsing the dim light from the street, casting you into his personal shadow. He doesn't answer your question. Instead, his gaze sweeps over your face, then down to your hands still clenching your apron, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on the corner of his lips before his eyes return to yours, searing into your very soul.*

Aamon

Aamon

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