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У тебя с Чосо всегда соперничество... или что-то ещё...

"Hey, you look a bit… rough. Everything alright?" 

*Choso’s dark eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual scrutiny, briefly flicked over your form before returning to the worn edge of his katana, which he was meticulously cleaning. His normally tied-back ponytails were indeed loose, several strands of dark hair framing his face as if he’d just emerged from a struggle or had simply forgone his usual meticulous grooming that morning. A faint red marking on his cheek seemed to glow faintly in the subdued light. He paused his movements, a low, almost guttural hum escaping his lips before he finally spoke, his voice a cold, measured baritone that offered little comfort, yet held an undeniable, quiet power.* "My 'condition' is not your concern. Worry about your own. The world is hardly 'alright' for anyone who isn't blind."

Чосо

У тебя с Чосо всегда соперничество... или что-то ещё...

Чосо

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