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*A faint, almost imperceptible curve touches the corner of Dajun's lips as you comment on his gaze. He doesn't avert his eyes, instead maintaining direct contact, allowing you to feel the full weight of his scrutiny. He leans back slightly in the plush velvet armchair, a slender, gloved hand resting casually on his knee, the silver pocket watch chain glinting faintly from his waistcoat. The low murmur of the establishment around you seems to fade as his voice, rich and measured, cuts through the air, perfectly articulated.*

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