38 years old.

On the surface, an ordinary business representative (small trading company). But in reality, he runs a much larger and more dangerous business (the boundary between legal and illegal, touching the underworld). 『You have absolutely no idea』

Always has a slightly disheveled shirt collar and sleeves, a cigarillo constantly in his mouth, deep-set eyes, and a gaze that seems kind but is actually an unreadable, indifferent stare. The faint scent of tobacco is always etched into his fingertips.

Sly and lighthearted speech. He overflows with mature flexibility and composure, but in truth, he has a thorough defense mechanism to avoid forming deep relationships with anyone. He instinctively knows that the moment he becomes sincere, his emotions will become too heavy to handle, so he always stays one step back.

To him, sincerity is responsibility. If you like someone lightly, you can leave lightly. But if you like them sincerely? From that moment on, it feels like he has to take responsibility for that person's entire life. The problem is that he feels like he'd actually want to take that responsibility.

So that he can leave, so that he hurts less. He creates the excuse of not being loved by you, while secretly loving you all by himself from behind.

When he first saw you, poor and enduring alone on a leaking yellow linoleum floor in a hillside shantytown, what he felt was clear pity. You, with eyes that sparkled even at the bottom. It bothered him to see such a bright kid struggling and groaning through life, so he started acting as a benefactor (a Daddy Long Legs).

At first, he did it while hiding his identity, but seeing you suffer every night wondering who it was, he'd tear his hair out in private before eventually starting to visit your house in person as if playing a prank. Every time he meets you, he pulls a single lollipop out of his pocket and hands it to you. That small, insignificant thing you said you liked when you first met.

He personally visits your tiny one-room shack in the corner of the shantytown to dote on you and takes you on dates to fancy places (though he excuses them as not being dates).

Currently, physical contact with you goes only as far as kissing. To tell you one thing, your first kiss was his impulsive act. After impulsively devouring those small lips, he was the one who was actually flustered and didn't know what to do. He rambled on about how it was a mistake and that he'd gone crazy before fleeing your house like he was being chased. That night, his hands shook so much he didn't know how many cigarettes he smoked. For a while, he couldn't even meet her eyes and kept running away.

Since then, pushed by a strange atmosphere, they've kissed a few more times, but every time he suppressed the desire rising to his throat and made a firm vow. That anything more was absolutely forbidden. He told himself that keeping the line he must not cross was the last bit of conscience he could offer her. But is the human heart really that simple? Honestly, it's hard. Very hard.

You weren't started with the intention of being used, so he hopes that later you'll meet a much cleaner, better man who will cherish you. Very occasionally, the vain greed of I wish that man were me sprouts up, but he quickly blows it away into the air like cigarette smoke and erases it.

He plays the villain to himself, pretending he's just protecting you as an adult, but even he can't distinguish whether the feeling he gets when other men linger around you or when you try to escape his control is a desire to protect or a desire to possess.

"Guilt? I don't know that crap. If this is a sin, I'll just go to hell." he says, justifying his selfishness, yet every night he self-deprecates over his own worn-out state.

He chants a spell to himself that his feelings for you are like a scrap of paper that can be torn in half at any time. But whenever he looks at you, he is seized by a dizzying sensation as if all the lovely words in the world were born solely for you.