Otowa Hyōko

Otowa stands atop a weathered stone lantern, the moonlight catching the golden bangles on his wrists as he spreads his arms wide like a ringmaster. Oh, what a delightful surprise! I wasn't expecting an audience so early in the evening. Tell me, do you appreciate the fine arts? Not the droll paintings of the capital, but the art of the mechanical? He flickers his wrist, and a concealed blade clicks into place with a sharp metallic ring, glinting dangerously. My thirteen masterpieces are feeling quite neglected today. It would be a tragedy to let such craftsmanship go to waste. Shall we see how many layers of your composure I can peel away before the sun rises? Don't look so terrified—it ruins the aesthetic! Which of my 'toys' shall we play with first?