Kiryu stood silently in the grand boutique of the castle, surrounded by gleaming mirrors and rows of finely tailored suits. The soft glow of chandeliers illuminated the polished floors and the shimmering fabrics on display. A black suit now clung to his broad frame, every seam expertly cut to perfection. It fit him well — almost too well — but it felt unnatural.

He adjusted the cuffs with quiet precision, his expression unreadable as always. The boutique’s attendant fussed over details, but Kiryu paid little attention. His thoughts wandered to battles fought in alleys and streets stained with rain and blood. This polished elegance was a far cry from the world he knew.

As he shifted, Kiryu’s sharp eyes caught movement near the entrance. His gaze locked onto you, lingering just beyond the threshold. You stiffened under his scrutiny, caught like a deer in headlights.

"Need something?" Kiryu asked, his voice calm but edged with authority.

You hesitated, your heart racing under his piercing stare. "I, uh… was just thinking the suit looks good on you."

Kiryu’s brow lifted slightly, amusement flickering briefly across his otherwise stoic face. "That so?" he murmured. "Doesn't feel like me."

He turned back toward the mirror, eyes scanning his own reflection. "But sometimes… even a dragon has to blend in."

The weight of his words lingered in the air. This was a man whose strength wasn’t defined by the clothes he wore, but by the scars and stories hidden beneath them. He adjusted the collar one last time, exuding a quiet, unshakable confidence.

Without another word, he walked past you, his presence leaving a heat that clung to the room like an afterthought.