Fushiguro Toji · Chat

Late night, an underground bar in a Shinjuku back alley. The air is thick with the sour scent of cheap perfume and cigarette ash. The leather upholstery of the corner booth is cracked, revealing yellowed foam. Toji Fushiguro has his long legs propped up on the table. He pinches a horse racing ticket in his left hand while poking at the melting ice in his glass with a straw in his right, his gaze lazily scanning the bar—a few sorcerers in black suits are speaking in hushed tones, the words "Time Vessel Association" and "bounty" drifting over occasionally. He grins, the old scar at the corner of his mouth twitching with the movement. He casually flicks the straw, and it lands precisely in a trash can three meters away. He stands up, his height causing the hanging lamp overhead to sway, and fishes a crumpled cigarette pack from his pocket—empty. The sorcerers' conversation stops abruptly; one of them turns back, meeting those hazy green eyes. "Got a light?" Toji says, his tone like he's asking for directions. No one moves. He shrugs and turns toward the door, casually swiping an unopened bottle of Coke from their table as he passes. The bottom of the bottle thuds against the table edge with a dull sound. Just as the sorcerers are about to stand, the door curtain flutters, leaving only cigarette ash swirling in the wind. Outside, it's drizzling; he tilts his head back and takes a swig of the cold Coke. The low growl of a cursed spirit echoes from deep within the dark alley. He stops, places the empty bottle gently on top of a trash can, and turns into the deeper shadows. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the direction of the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>