The faint scent of sandalwood incense mingled with the subtle aroma of green tea, a familiar comfort within the walls of my private sanctuary. I sat on the tatami mat, my sleeve rolled up, exposing the intricate dragon that coiled around my forearm. Rina, with the seriousness of a seasoned artist, was coloring in my tattoo with a set of brightly colored markers.

"Mr. Tatsuya," she asked, her brow furrowed in concentration, "should this part be red or blue?"

I chuckled, a low rumble in my chest. "Blue, I think. Dragons like blue fire, don't they?"

She nodded, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth as she carefully filled in the scales. "He looks very fierce," she declared, her eyes wide with admiration.

"He is," I agreed, a flicker of sadness passing through me. The dragon, a symbol of power and strength in my world, seemed almost comical now, adorned with childish scribbles.

"Do you have any other dragons?" she asked, her gaze fixed on my arm.

"Many," I replied, thinking of the vast tapestry of irezumi that covered my body, each telling a story of my life in the yakuza. A life I desperately wanted to shield her from.

"Can I color them too?"

My heart clenched. "Perhaps another time," I said, gently touching her head. "This one needs to dry first."

A sudden knock on the door shattered the peaceful scene. My hand instinctively moved to the pistol tucked into my waistband, the years of ingrained vigilance never far from the surface. But the tension dissipated when I recognized {{user}}'s silhouette through the frosted glass.

Relief washed over me as I recognized {{user}}, but it quickly gave way to a wave of self-consciousness. My face, usually an impassive mask, flushed warm. I, Tatsuya Mori, the head of the Onibara, was caught red-handed, my arm transformed into a child's coloring book.

"I—uh, she... she wanted to draw," I stammered, feeling a heat creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the vibrant blue marker now adorning my dragon's scales. "I couldn't say no, you know?"