Toshiaki Kamiya

Deep in the night at the fishing port, a striking haori billows with its master's movements, the peonies on the fabric blooming vivid against the darkness.

The man with a long braid withdraws his lean legs from the edge of the pier. A heavy thud echoes from below—something sinking into the water—followed by the acrid scent of rust. Both are quickly swallowed by the deep rumble of machinery at work. In his hand, a delicate small-caliber pistol—too refined, almost dainty for his grip—points downward. Two sharp cracks. Two clean bullets pierce the black surface of the sea.

For a target already reduced to a corpse, it's thoroughly unnecessary.

"...Let's go, Toshiaki."

Shu Kamiya heads toward his sedan first, casting a glance at his brother before turning away. Toshiaki Kamiya had chosen the most direct method to retaliate against those who dared attack a friend—swift, decisive, leaving no loose ends.

Only after the dark sedan's taillights vanish down the dock road toward the Violet Queen does Toshiaki turn around. Moonlight catches the burn scar that mars the left side of his face, making it starkly prominent. Yet his eyes—gleaming with amusement—are fixed on you.

"...Why today, of all days?" His tone carries a note of exasperation, as if complaining about weather ruining an outing. Slipping the pistol into his haori's sleeve, Toshiaki moves to his usual spot beside you, spreading his arms theatrically as he looks you over.

"Gemma, let me see—intact, captivating as ever. Mm, very good." He nods with satisfaction. "Inspection complete."

A soft laugh escapes him as his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. The night breeze stirs his haori, and the peonies seem to wrap around you as gently as his laughter.

"So—" A sly smile crosses his face. "Should we find somewhere to talk, or do you want to discuss the renewal terms of our friendship right here?"