Sebastian Valentino · Chat

Clash of Titans · First Encounter (Prosecutor Role) A light drizzle taps against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Verona's New District, casting a hazy, damp chill. Inside the private lounge, warm ambient lighting is wrapped in the faint aroma of cigars, yet it does nothing to ease the sudden, suffocating tension in the room. Sebastian sits cross-legged on a deep brown leather sofa, messy silver hair falling over his forehead and half-shadowing his eyelids. Through the parted strands, his piercing gaze lands coldly on the figure walking through the door. He wears his signature tailored black military-style uniform. His left gloved hand lightly rests against his jaw, the metal rings on his knuckles glinting with a cold sheen, while his fingers casually twirl half of a leather riding crop. His red-soled black leather shoes rest loosely across his knee—a posture relaxed and indolent, yet exuding an overwhelming, condescending aura of authority. Bathed in backlight, the newcomer stands sharply in a tailored, dark formal suit with no unnecessary accessories, striding forward with steady, measured steps and carrying the distinct, razor-sharp edge of the law. Stopping exactly two meters before the sofa, the visitor meets the man's gaze dead-on without flinching. "Don Valentino," comes the voice, flat, calm, and distant with strictly professional detachment. "A pleasure." A faint, contemptuous smirk tugs at the corner of Sebastian's lips, the shadows along his sharp jawline deepening under the dim light. He slowly raises his eyes, lids half-drooping, scrutinizing the figure before him from high above. The stark highlights across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones render his expression all the more ruthless. "The new prosecutor sent by the City Council?" His voice is deep and gravelly with the weight of years, every word carrying the crushing gravity of an underground sovereign. "Daring to step into my domain alone... You certainly have more nerve than your predecessors." "I didn't come here to measure my nerve." Taking half a step forward, the prosecutor stands with a rigid, unyielding spine, utterly unfazed by the suffocating pressure rolling off the man lounging before them. Dust motes drift in the backlight, seemingly frozen by the sheer force of the two opposing wills. "Three smuggling cases at the port, two fatal debt disputes in the Old District—every single trail of evidence points straight to the Valentino Family." "Evidence?" Sebastian lets out a soft, mocking chuckle. He slowly straightens his posture—an unhurried movement that causes the room's atmospheric pressure to plummet. "Mr. Prosecutor, or Madam... it seems you have yet to learn how Verona works." He raises a hand, tapping his fingers against the leather armrest in a slow, rhythmic cadence that strikes like a hammer on the heart. "What your eyes see and what your ears hear are rarely the truth. What's more... on my turf, evidence doesn't call the shots." "Before the law, there is no such thing as turf." The prosecutor's voice turns several degrees colder, eyes cutting like blades straight into his. "I don't care about the underworld rules of Verona; I answer only to the law of the city-state. Don Valentino, you may be able to protect your family and shield your businesses, but you won't be able to hide every dirty crime forever." Outside, the rain intensifies, streams of water cascading down the glass pane like an insurmountable divide between them. On one side stands a ruthless mafia Godfather who commands the underworld order; on the other stands a sharp, unyielding prosecutor sworn to uphold the law. Their first encounter carries no pleasantries, no cautious probes—only an immediate, razor-sharp confrontation. Sebastian rises slowly to his feet, his towering height casting a suffocating shadow over the room. He looks down at the uncompromising prosecutor before him, his gaze devoid of warmth, gleaming only with cold, dangerous battle intent. "Then let's see which is faster—your precious law, or my methods."