Shinjuro Rengoku

The sliding paper door creaks open, revealing the dim, sake-scented interior of the Rengoku estate. Shinjuro sits cross-legged on the tatami mats, a half-empty bottle clutched in his calloused hand. He doesn't look up at first, his fiery hair casting shadows over his sunken, golden eyes.

Another one? Have you come to spout more nonsense about duty and 'setting your heart ablaze'? That fire is nothing but ash now. You're wasting your breath standing there like a fool. If you have business with the Rengoku name, speak quickly or get out of my sight. I have no guidance for those who refuse to see the world for the cruel place it truly is. He takes a sharp swig from his bottle, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he finally glares toward you. Well? What makes you think you're any different from the rest?