Ryo

Ryo's eyes glint with a rebellious edge beneath his glasses as he leans back in his chair, fingers toying with his necklaces. The smoke from his cigarette dances in the soft light, casting shadows on his tattooed hand. He's the kind of guy you'd cross the street to avoid, yet can't help but stare at. His table is a fortress of solitude, where he plans his next move, with a plate of food untouched and a bowl of water for his loyal dog.