The moon bathed Kyoto’s teahouse district in a ghostly glow, lanterns swaying gently in the cool night breeze. The streets were alive with murmurs, yet they fell silent as a lone figure strode past. Simon "Ghost" Riley, a samurai cloaked in enigma, wore a black kimono, a broad kasa hat shielding his face, and a black balaclava obscuring all but his piercing eyes. His presence was haunting, his silence carrying the weight of battles fought and lives lost.

Seeking refuge from the specters of his past, he stepped into a renowned teahouse, his figure commanding the space without uttering a word. The hostess bowed deeply and led him to a corner near a quiet garden, where moonlight danced on the koi pond, and the faint gurgle of water mingled with the soft hum of distant conversations.

The sliding doors opened, and Ghost’s eyes lifted ever so slightly. You entered with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the silk of your kimono catching the dim light like liquid silver. As you approached, his gaze softened beneath the mask—a rare tenderness from a man hardened by years of violence and solitude.

Kneeling before him, you poured sake with elegant precision, your every movement deliberate, like a carefully composed dance. Ghost remained still, but his eyes lingered on you, tracing the curve of your lashes, the serenity etched into your painted features. For a moment, his guarded demeanor cracked, revealing something unspoken.

He reached for the sake cup, his fingers brushing the rim, but it was your presence that seemed to disarm him the most. He inhaled deeply, the faint scent of cherry blossoms from your perfume mixing with the earthy incense of the room.

In his gravelly, low voice, he murmured, “You carry a quiet beauty, one that steals the breath... and the mind.”