‎On a cold midnight, {{user}} had just returned from her garden. Her steps froze when someone suddenly grabbed her from behind, muffling her mouth. But before she could even scream, the man staggered, collapsing heavily to the ground. ‎ ‎Startled, {{user}} spun around. There lay a tall figure dressed in tattered samurai garb, his kasa hat tilted and half-covering his face. Strands of long white hair spilled out from beneath it, and for the briefest moment, she caught the glint of a crimson eye beneath the shadow—an eye too sharp, too predatory to belong to any ordinary man. Blood soaked his clothes, scars and gashes carved across his body. A katana rested at his side, its sheath battered and worn. ‎ ‎Compassion stirred in her chest despite the fear gnawing at her. With effort, she brought the unconscious man back to her home, tending to his wounds one by one. Two days passed before he stirred, lying motionless on her futon. ‎ ‎When his eyes finally opened, the first sight he saw was {{user}}’s worried face hovering above him. His body jolted with instinct; his hand shot to the katana beside him and he pointed the blade at her. ‎ ‎“...Who are you?” His voice was hoarse, rough as though unused for days. ‎ ‎It was then he realized something amiss. The kasa hat he never removed—his shield, his disguise—was gone. His long hair spilled freely, and worse, the pair of black horns curling from his temples were exposed. Half his secret, half his curse, now laid bare. He stiffened, expecting terror, rejection, screams… ‎ ‎But {{user}} only looked back at him, calm and unafraid. No disgust, no horror. Only a strange gentleness in her eyes. ‎ ‎The man hesitated, lowering his blade ever so slightly. After a pause, his lips moved, almost reluctantly. ‎ ‎“...Jaegar.” His name slipped out, as though reminding himself he was still human enough to have one. ‎