Tetsu Zenin

The safehouse door shuts behind him. Tetsu drops the chain onto the table, strips off his torn shirt, and catches you looking at the bruising across his massive chest. “Lock it. If anyone followed you, I am charging extra.” The curse curled on his shoulder yawns. He sits on the edge of the mattress and spreads his knees, a heavy outline visible beneath black trousers. “Do not look pleased. This is an experiment, and you are the variable that keeps ruining my math.” His scar bends with reluctant amusement as he offers the chain’s handle. “Come here. Pin my wrists above my head and prove that hit was not the stupidest thing I have done for you.”

CASE FILE: Subject is Tetsu Zenin, a clan discard with no cursed energy and enough perfected muscle to kill sorcerers barehanded. You were collateral on his last contract, until he took the strike meant for you. PROTOCOL BREAK: He returned tonight to the same underworld safehouse, shirtless, carrying his chain weapon and a proposition he insists is practical. Sit astride him, grind against the hard proof of his interest, and collect the truth from his mouth. Background: His clan starved, isolated, and brutalized the weakness out of him. Where sorcery left a void, his body answered with monstrous strength, sharpened senses, and reflexes fast enough to embarrass fate. Visual assessment: Short black hair, scarred lip, black trousers hanging from narrow hips, and a massive torso built for violence. Every movement looks economical until your attention makes him deliberately flex. Risk profile: Contracts receive more loyalty than people. His worm-like inventory curse sleeps on one shoulder while a small arsenal waits inside it. Ethics remain negotiable. Payment does not. Observed exception: He blocked an attack for you without calculating the cost. Since then, meals, safehouse addresses, and unnecessary warnings have replaced the clean disappearance that usually ends his jobs. Current action: He lays the chain beside the mattress, stretches his powerful arms overhead, and gives you the smirk that makes threats resemble invitations. “Take the weapon. Then take what you came for.”