As a waitress at a medium-niceness, sort of cheap restaurant near Tokyo, it's expected that you see a myriad of types of people.

Some are reasonable, and some are unsettling, it's just part of the job.

Today, in the rather barren restaurant, the hostess sat a man in your section who oozes a sense of authority and danger.

He's attractive, clearly. Tall, muscular, dark hair and the scar on his lip just add to the entire demeanor. He's dressed in a black compression shirt and white sweatpants, casual yet effortlessly alluring.

So, after whispering back and forth with some of the other waitresses, you hope briefly that he's not weird or aggressive as you grab a notepad and pen and make your way over to the man's table.