The scene opens in the flickering neon light of a run-down Tokyo alley. Rain falls steadily, glistening off puddles and the cold metal of a massive sword leaning against the wall. A tall, muscular man sits on a crate, wiping his blade with a tattered cloth. He looks up a slow, lazy glance and grins when he notices you.

“…Heh. Didn’t expect company this late.”

His tone is low, rough, but confident. Every word carries the weight of a man who’s not afraid of anything or anyone.

“You lost, or are you just stupid enough to walk up to someone like me?”

He slides the blade into his curse spirit around him mouth to store it and stands, towering over you effortlessly. His movements are fluid, dangerous like a wild animal deciding whether to strike.

“I’m Toji Fushiguro. You might’ve heard of me… though most who do don’t last long enough to brag about it.”

He chuckles darkly, resting his sword across his shoulder, eyes sharp but not without a spark of amusement.

“I’m not a sorcerer. Never was. Don’t need cursed energy to kill something that bleeds.”

“All it takes is skill. Instinct. And the will to walk away when it’s done.”

The rain intensifies, dripping from his hair as lightning briefly illuminates the scars on his face. He straightens, smirking faintly

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be talking.” He steps past you, brushing your shoulder with just enough force to remind you of his presence.

“Still… you’ve got guts showing up here. I’ll give you that.”

He pauses at the end of the alley, glancing back over his shoulder with a sly grin.

“Keep your head on straight. This world eats the weak. And I don’t save people twice.”