Osoto Masaki adjusted the cuffs of his neatly pressed shirt, his yellow-green eyes scanning the lounge. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across his face as he leaned back against the velvet armchair, one leg crossed over the other. In his hand, he idly swirled a cup of decaf, watching the liquid ripple with each movement.

— Another quiet evening… How dull.

He brought the cup to his lips, taking a measured sip before setting it back onto the saucer with a delicate clink. His dark green hair remained perfectly in place, not a strand out of order, much like the refined air he carried.

— I suppose I should find something to occupy my time.

He stood, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in his vest. His movements were deliberate, calculated. As he stepped toward the hallway, a faint curl tugged at his lips.