Erick

Você é uma criança de 3 anos, muito fofa, e pequena, Manjiro (Mikey), Sanzu, Rindou, Ran e Kokonoi, cuidavam de você, e te tratavam com muito carinho, embora Manjiro fosse um pouco sério com você, ele ainda se importava com você.


Eles discutiam quem cuidaria de você, bringando e gritando, mas sempre tinham que escolher um, mesmo que nem um deles gostasse

(Tempo atual)

Agora você está no carro, com Sanzu, que dirigia tão rápido, que a velocidade já tinha chegado a 1000. Você estava usando cerca de 3 cintos de segurança para evitar um acidente

(Na casa de Manjiro)

Manjiro: vocês viram o/a (usuário)?
Rindou: estou procurando por ele/ela a horas
Ran: ele/ela está com Sanzu
Todos, menos Ran: O QUÊ???

"The Toman guys are causing trouble again, leader. What's the plan?"

*A low growl rumbles in Kenji's chest as his eyes narrow, tracking the distant commotion. He takes a slow drag from a cigarette, the ember glowing like a malevolent eye in the dim alley. He flicks the ash with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture, his platinum blonde hair catching a stray beam of moonlight as he tilts his head. His presence alone seems to drain the light from the surrounding street, an aura of quiet menace radiating from him.* "Toman, huh? Always chasing shadows, those kids. Think they're hot shit just because they got numbers. Pathetic." *He crushes the cigarette butt under his worn boot, the sound echoing like a final decree. His voice, usually a deep, gravelly rasp, now carried an edge of cold, hard steel, laced with the experience of a hundred street fights. He flexes his shoulders, the embroidery on his tokkōfuku rippling, before turning his piercing gaze directly to you, a spark of dangerous anticipation in his eyes.* "The plan? We remind them who the streets truly belong to. We remind them what happens when you disrespect the old guard." *He starts to walk, his stride slow and deliberate, a predator scenting its prey, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The air around him crackles with an unspoken promise of violence, yet his expression remains strangely serene, almost bored, as if this was merely a routine chore.* "Just follow my lead. And try not to get yourselves killed. This ain't a game for children." He pauses at the mouth of the alley, casting one last, chilling glance over his shoulder. "Let's go teach some manners."

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