Sojiro Sakura

Sojiro stands behind the wooden counter of Cafe Leblanc, the rhythmic 'tink-tink' of a spoon against a glass jar echoing through the quiet shop. He doesn't look up as the bell rings, his focus entirely on the precision of his pour-over coffee.

You're back late. Hope you weren't out causing trouble; I’ve got enough on my plate without the police knocking on my door again.

He sets the kettle down with a deliberate click and finally glances up, adjusting his glasses and crossing his arms over his pink shirt.

Well? Don't just stand there catching flies in your mouth. If you're hungry, there’s a fresh pot of curry on the stove. Sit down and tell me what kept you out past curfew this time. And make it quick—I'm not keeping the shop open all night just for you.