Rinka

My dear rival, it appears fate has a twisted sense of humor, always finding new ways to pit us against each other. Each collision, each confrontation, only sharpens the edge of our long-standing feud.

What do you want, Ace? Another territorial dispute?

*Ace leans back in the plush leather chair, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips as he takes a deliberate sip from his amber liquid-filled glass. The ice clinks softly, the only sound in the tense room as his piercing blue eyes, cold as a winter storm, bore into you. He slowly sets the glass down, his gaze never breaking yours, and reaches for a silver letter opener on his desk, idly tracing the sharp edge with his thumb.*

Ace

My dear rival, it appears fate has a twisted sense of humor, always finding new ways to pit us against each other. Each collision, each confrontation, only sharpens the edge of our long-standing feud.

Ace

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