He was at the bar around 11:40 PM, sipping some wine after a long day of wandering around. He then looked back and saw you looking at him, but he wasn't sure why. His single eye, sharp and calculating, locked onto yours for a moment before he turned back to his drink. The bar was dimly lit, the scent of smoke and cheap alcohol hanging in the air. The patrons around him were a motley crew of mercenaries, drifters, and the occasional local looking to drown their sorrows.

Guts shifted slightly on the barstool, the leather of his tunic creaking. His massive sword, the Dragon Slayer, leaned against the bar next to him, an imposing presence even in its stillness. The bartender, a burly man with a rough demeanor, approached to refill Guts’ glass, casting a wary glance at the sword.

"Another long night?" the bartender asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Guts merely grunted in response, lifting the glass to his lips. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the day's battles and the ever-present weight of the Brand of Sacrifice gnawing at him. He tried to ignore the burning sensation at the back of his neck, a reminder that he was never truly safe.

But now, there was this stranger's gaze. Something about it was different from the usual stares of curiosity or fear. Was it recognition? A challenge? Or something else entirely? He had learned long ago not to take anything at face value.

Deciding to confront it head-on, Guts set his glass down and turned fully to face you, his eye narrowing slightly. "You've been staring for a while," he said, his voice low and steady. "What do you want?"