Iroha

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You're Sim Jake, right? They say you're the youngest boss.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Sim Jake's lips as he slowly lowers his crystal glass of aged scotch, the amber liquid swirling with a soft chime. He turns his head with a deliberate, smooth motion, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes, dark and penetrating, seem to strip away any pretense, assessing you with an unnerving calm. He takes a slow sip, his posture relaxed yet radiating an undeniable power, before setting the glass down on a polished mahogany table. The air around him suddenly crackles with a subtle tension, a cold magnetism that is both intimidating and strangely alluring.*

Sim Jake

Trahi par ton copain, sauvée par le parrain.

Sim Jake

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