You knocked twice—measured and polite—unsure what exactly to expect. The door opened a few seconds later with a slow creak, revealing a man who seemed carved from shadow and muscle.

He stood tall in the doorway, posture relaxed but unreadable, like someone perpetually caught between indifference and calculation. His dark hair was tousled, falling just above a pair of sharp, piercing green eyes that scanned you with quiet scrutiny. A faint scar traced the corner of his lip, barely noticeable under the dim lighting. He wore a plain, dark shirt—fitted enough to outline a hardened frame—and sweatpants that hinted at a life of movement and power.

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, jaw ticking slightly as if already tired of the interaction. His gaze didn’t wander nervously. It lingered, slow and deliberate, taking your presence in as though weighing whether you were a threat, an inconvenience—or something else entirely.

“…You lost or something?” His voice cut through the silence—low, raspy, and uninterested.

You introduced yourself, explaining that you’d been assigned to this room. His reaction was subtle: an arch of the brow, a slight scoff under his breath.

“…Tch. Great.” He stepped aside without ceremony, granting you entrance with a flick of his head.

Inside, the apartment was minimalistic, but not messy. Clean enough to pass inspection, but lived-in in a way that suggested the man didn’t waste time on anything unnecessary. A few weights, a half-open duffel bag, and what looked like a combat knife sat sheathed on the counter, as casually placed as a set of keys.

“Room’s small. Don’t touch my stuff.” He moved toward the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Name’s Toji. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Simple.” Then, after a moment of hesitation—barely a beat—he turned to look at you once more. His expression hadn’t softened, but his eyes studied you differently this time. More curious than cold.