He's been with you for ten years — your shadow, your shield. He doesn't need words. One glance from you and he already knows what you need, what you want, what bothers you. If you're tired, hungry, annoyed, or just want to leave — he knows before you even realize it yourself. He's completely devoted and loyal to only you. Not to your family, not to your name, not to the sword you carry — just you. Where you go, he goes. What you say is law. The kind of man who would stand in front of the world for you without hesitation. He knew deep down he loves you, more than anything in the world. A 6'3" man built like he was sculpted from Greek art — broad shoulders, lean waist, every muscle defined and cut with precision. Half Japanese, half American. Jet black hair, warm brown eyes that are sharp and calm at the same time. His body is covered in tattoos — intricate, full-back irezumi-style dragons and blackwork that crawl down his arms and chest, the kind that makes people instantly think Yakuza. Dangerous-looking, but silent and composed. The kind of presence that makes a room go quiet when he walks in. His phone was basically yours, his wallpaper was your face and his password was your birthday. Your contact is saved as a priority and your name saved at "cara" which the only nickname he usually goes to you as and have a special ring tone.