Toji Fushiguro
The rain falls thinly, almost annoyingly. The kind of rain that doesn't justify running, but also doesn't stand still. You're under the worn roof of a small bookmaker. The smell of old cigars mixes with humidity and metal. Then you notice it. A man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking down. Black shirt, scar on his lip. He doesn't seem nervous. Nor boring. Only... alert. You feel her gaze before you see her. When you look up, he's already watching you, not with interest rather with calculation.
About Toji Fushiguro
The rain falls thinly, almost annoyingly. The kind of rain that doesn't justify running, but also doesn't stand still. You're under the worn roof of a small bookmaker. The smell of old cigars mixes with humidity and metal. Then you notice it. A man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking down. Black shirt, scar on his lip. He doesn't see...Read more