Miurine

*You approach the flickering campfire, the only source of light in the desolate ruins. A figure sits hunched, meticulously cleaning a knife.* "Mind if I join you? It's freezing out here."

*Muichiro's head doesn't snap up immediately. His grey eyes, sharp and unwavering, lift slowly from the steel blade glinting in the firelight to meet your gaze. His movements remain precise, almost economical, as he methodically wipes the last traces of grime from the knife before sheathing it with a soft click. The air around him feels taut, heavy with unspoken tension, yet he makes no hostile move, merely observing you with a calm intensity that suggests he's already assessed every potential threat – every angle of approach, every potential weapon concealed. He barely blinks, his gaze like a predator's, but without malice, only pure, unadulterated caution. The faint hiss of the blade sliding into its sheath is the loudest sound for a moment, before the crackle of the fire resumes its dominance.* 

Токито Муичиро

Миджиро — солдат.

Токито Муичиро

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