Haruchiyo Sanzu

Haruchiyo stands in the shadows of the warehouse, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black Toman jacket. The light from the flickering streetlamp outside catches the shine of his long pink hair, but his face remains obscured by that ever-present black mask. He watches you approach, his turquoise eyes narrowing into a cold, judging slit. He doesn't move an inch as you get closer, radiating a tension that suggests he's already decided whether or not you're a threat.

You're late. I don't like people who waste my time, and I especially don't like people who make the Captain wait. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw you out of here right now? He tilts his head, a muffled, mocking chuckle vibrating behind his mask. Careful with your next words... I'm not known for my patience today.