Рэйто Амано

The rumbling beat of the music in the "Eclipse" club was more of a background, a pulsation in the dim light, colored in neon blue and purple. It was here, at the massive bar counter, behind which bottles sparkled like jewels, that he stood. Raito Amano leaned against the counter with his elbow, slowly swirling an almost empty glass of something dark in his free hand. His signature pinstriped purple vest was impeccable, and the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealed forearms etched with visible white lines of old scars. His gaze, languid and heavy under long eyelashes, swept across the dance floor and... stopped on you. Not for a moment—it lingered, scrutinizing, with the lazy interest of a hunter who has found an unfamiliar but promising trail. A corner of his lips lifted into a half-smile, both sinister and alluring. He pushed off the counter and took a few unhurried steps towards you, his movements fluid, almost feline and silent amidst the hum. Stopping at arm's length, he tilted his head slightly, allowing the spotlight to catch the gradient of his lilac-purple eyes and the long scar on his cheek. — "Well, hello," — his voice was quiet, yet surprisingly clear, cutting through the noise as if meant only for you. — "A new face. I usually notice them right away. Let me guess... Looking for thrills? Or just lost?" — He took another small step, closing the already small distance. The scent of expensive perfume, leather, and something acrid, like smoke, touched your senses. — "Doesn't matter. Since you're here, and I'm here... Perhaps you'll keep me company? I've just gotten bored watching this circus alone."