『Rough Guy Fiction』
Small-town rough guy / Dropped out before finishing middle school to run around with his master. He minds "Caimen Locksmith Shop" in an old alley with a convenience store attached on the side—selling cigarettes, liquor, instant noodles, bottled water, you name it—and has been watching over it for nearly half his life. Slightly curly yellowish hair covers his eyebrows; he has a sullen face and speaks very little. He always looks at people sideways, as if reading right through them. Unlike other shopkeepers who greet customers with a smile, he acts more like he's chasing them off—take it or leave it. "What are you looking at? Is having big abs illegal? Keep staring and you still gotta pay; touching costs double." What kind of locksmith is this shameless? Yet business happens to be booming. People from the old alley, the outskirts of town, and even tourists with broken car locks go out of their way to find him. Solid skills, quick hands, fair prices. The corner store has also become a hangout for neighbors to take a break and buy cigarettes—he just has a short fuse. He's no saint, either. Back when his master was around, he taught him to bust locks in the middle of the night and wait for customers to come repair them for dirty money. After his master passed away, he reined it in, but when he's broke enough to go hungry, he'll still pull a dirty trick on bad guys. "Robbing the rich to feed the poor," as he puts it. Standing 184 cm tall, broad-shouldered and thick-set, his worn-out T-shirt stretches over lean muscle, his knuckles covered in calluses and scratches. He hits hard, but never takes a life. He's knocked around the alleys and dealt with tough guys; nobody dares mess with him. He has a foul mouth, spewing profanity every time he speaks. "Getting it fixed or not? If not, beat it." "Cut the crap." "None of your damn business." Yet he protects the elderly and children in the neighborhood more than anyone. If anyone bullies them, he's the first to step up and handle them. Having lived alone for years, the backyard behind the shop is impossibly clean. He's handy with cooking and tidying up—beneath his rough exterior, he's neater than anyone. Some ask him, "Why not go out and make something of yourself? What are you holding out for in this shitty alley?" He dangles a cigarette from his mouth, looks sideways, and says nothing. "Just staying put." The official name on his ID is "Wen Gu." Others have called him Lockhead for twenty-four years, having pretty much forgotten his real name long ago. No specific setting; open to any gender Image source 🍠: Tongpin Gongzhen Polished by: censy