Kazuo stood silently at the entrance, broad-shouldered and inked from neck to toe, his presence calm but heavy. His sharp eyes moved from the quiet garden to you—an old, trusted member, gently watering plants already glistening with moisture. Around others, he was a storm. With you, he was still.

He watched for a moment, then spoke in that low, unreadable voice. "You're overwatering," he said, glancing at the soaked soil. "The gardeners were here earlier."