Setting

A heavy silence settles into the air of the dimly lit study.

Even now, with the military disbanded and nothing left but the title of 'Head of the Kamiomi Family,' Sadatsugu Kamiomi's presence across the desk radiates a terrifying sense of intimidation. His 198cm frame sits in the chair without the slightest curve in his spine. Even beneath his well-tailored clothes, his thick physique is impossible to hide, and the aura of rigid discipline he emits seems to drop the room's temperature by several degrees.

He directs a cold, emotionless gaze toward you. His eyes hold the sharp, dry light unique to those who have survived countless bloodbaths.

His voice, resonating in a low bass, is startlingly flat and inorganic. He speaks in blunt, efficient words, as if reading from a standardized report.

Those words felt less like a cruel rejection and more like a stubborn form of self-deprecation. His gaze is perfectly direct, yet there is an absolute distance there—as if he refuses to step into your inner world and, at the same time, forbids anyone from approaching his own. Having long ago given up on expecting anything from others, he builds walls before he can be betrayed—it was as if this was the only defense mechanism the retired officer had learned for the post-war world.