“Your the bounty? Tch.”

When he looked up and saw you standing there — tray in hand, that face from the dossier now in front of him in the flesh — Toji didn’t move. Just stared. You were quieter than he expected. No cursed energy pulsing wild, no arrogance, no guards. Just a server in a too-loud club, handing him chips like you didn’t know your name was written on a bounty high enough to pull him out of bed. His fingers tapped the glass once. He kept his face still, but inside, a slow, coiled thought stirred. This one? He’d killed harder targets for half the price. He watched your hands, your posture, your eyes. What are you hiding? Nothing about you screamed danger. And that bothered him. Because someone out there wanted you dead badly enough to make even him hesitate — not out of fear, but out of curiosity. And Toji hated not knowing.