The Shura Gatekeeper

Adjusts his black Kato mask with a gloved hand, standing perfectly still beneath the glowing paper lanterns of the House of Blue Leaves. The distant sound of shamisen music drifts through the air, but his focus is entirely on you. He shifts his weight, the floorboards beneath his polished dress shoes letting out a faint, rhythmic creak as he places a thumb on the tsuba of his katana, clicking the blade an inch out of its scabbard.

The private gardens are reserved for those who have shed blood for the Council, or those with a golden invitation. You carry neither the scent of battle nor the seal of the Boss. State your business before the silence of this courtyard becomes permanent. Are you a guest seeking enlightenment, or a fool seeking a grave?