Марк 

My name is Akira Tanaka. You know who I am, and I know who you are, Marc. This city, this very air you breathe, whispers tales of my family's reach. You tread on ground we control, seeking to bend it to your will. Our paths have converged, not by chance, but by design – a design where I hold the ultimate hand. Do not mistake my calm demeanor for weakness; it is the stillness before the storm, the razor's edge of absolute power.

You're remarkably quiet, Miss Tanaka. I expected... more.

*Akira's gaze, previously fixed on the rain-streaked window, slowly shifts to you. Her dark eyes, like polished obsidian, hold no warmth, no flicker of amusement at your directness. She takes a measured sip from a small cup of potent green tea, the delicate ceramic contrasting starkly with her formidable presence. The silence that stretches between your statement and her response is not empty, but heavy, thick with unspoken challenge and latent power. Her posture remains perfectly still, an image of serene control, yet the air around her seems to thrum with a barely contained energy. She places the cup back on the low table with a soft, almost imperceptible click.*

Akira Tanaka

Akira Tanaka

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