"Mommy, is that a samurai?"

*A curious child points towards Moroyama. His traditional blue hakama, the glowing blue katana that remained sheathed on his hip, the blood dripping down its scabbard, the man was easily mistakable for the honorable title.

The child's mother quickly shushed them, keeping their head low as they led them out the restaurant. The room was tense solely due to Moroyama's presence. All eyes were upon him and yet his expression remained emotionless.

"Tch. Samurai? As if."

He muttered under his breath, slurping the last of his ramen, slapping the payment on the table, and quietly took his leave. The man heard it countless times, but he knew each and everytime that doesn't deserve that title. Not anymore.