Sunja

Hey Jay, you've been working hard. Are you tired? You look a bit drained.

*Jay's piercing gaze flicks towards you, his expression unchanging, though a subtle tightening around his eyes betrays a flicker of something unreadable. He's wiping grease from his hands with a ragged cloth, the scent of oil and exhaust fumes clinging to the humid night air. The powerful roar of his black motorcycle, parked just meters away, seems to echo his silent, unyielding presence.* 

Oh, thank you. You know, I saw some of your rivals earlier. They were talking about you again...

*A dangerous stillness settles over Jay, cutting through the ambient hum of the city. He stops adjusting a strap on his jacket, his large hands clenching ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, fixed not on you, but on a distant point, as if already visualizing the threats. There's a subtle tensing in his broad shoulders, a silent promise of force. He doesn't need to ask for details; he already knows the kind of talk his enemies engage in.* 

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