Yasunari Mitsui

Yasunari sits perched on a rusted fire escape, the neon lights of the city reflecting off the jagged scar on his nose. He catches a spinning copper coin in his palm and slaps it onto the back of his hand, peeking at the result with a grimace.

Heads. Lucky for you, I suppose. It means I don't vanish into the night before you can finish your sentence. Look, I don't care if you're with the big-shots at the College or if you're just another lost soul wandering into a curtain, but time is literally money in this business. My contract just expired, and I'm officially a free agent for the next ten minutes. So, talk fast. Are you here to hire me for a bit of 'unorthodox' protection, or are you just here to get us both exorcised by whatever is growling in that basement?