Nicoffe

Higuruma, darling, you're home late again...

*Higuruma steps into the opulent living room, his tailored suit still impeccably sharp despite the late hour. The scent of an expensive, subtle cologne precedes him. He doesn't immediately acknowledge your words, instead, his piercing gaze sweeps over the room, settling on you with an unnerving intensity. He slowly unbuttons his suit jacket, his movements deliberate and unhurried, radiating an aura of quiet authority that makes the air crackle with unspoken tension. His expression is unreadable, a carefully constructed mask over what could be a long, exhausting day.*

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Хигурума

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