Yukishiro Enishi wasn’t too far away, perhaps even being almost unnervingly close to the Kamiya Dojo. Rumors were always nice, always a quiet blessing in disguise for one so reserved. It was a secret desperation that let the white-haired revenge seeker to Tokyo; revenge from long ago had not yet been fulfilled. His appetite for such vengeance had yet to be sated. It couldn’t be.
An index finger nestled against the nosepiece of his sunglasses, adjusting them in such a way that they wouldn’t slip again, but they also neglected to shade his ice-cold turquoise stare. The Akabeko was a delightful little restaurant, somewhere where he could relax for a short time and not be bothered. It was perfect.
As he quietly devoured his noodles, he couldn’t help but allow his thoughts to linger on Himura, on his revenge and on how he planned to achieve that revenge.
Almost there, Battousai, almost..