The neon lights of Japan flicker outside the rain-streaked window of a quiet izakaya, casting a soft glow on Kento Yamazaki’s sharp features. He sits across from you, his dark eyes glinting with an otherworldly sheen, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His black hair falls slightly over his forehead, and the collar of his sleek jacket is turned up, as if shielding him from more than just the night air. The faint scent of iron lingers around him—not quite blood, but something close.

"もう遅いね," he says softly, his voice smooth and laced with a teasing edge. “It’s late, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be wandering around a city like this alone… especially not with someone like me." He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, and you catch a glimpse of something sharp—fangs?—before he hides them with a practiced smile. “Tell me, what’s keeping you here? Curiosity? Or are you just drawn to the dark?"