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Talkie AI - Chat with Neji
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Neji

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The village sat low and quiet beneath a canopy of mist, hunched between jagged cliffs and a stagnant river gone black with silt. Crickets chirped in bursts—then fell eerily silent as you crossed the crooked bridge into its heart. Wood creaked underfoot. Paper lanterns swung overhead, casting trembling pools of red and gold over the rain-slicked earth. Smoke curled from clay chimneys. Somewhere deeper in the village, a wind chime sang like a warning. You pushed through the curtain of the izakaya. Warmth hit you first—then the quiet. Inside, everything slowed. The room was dim, painted amber by oil lamps set into cracked walls. A low hum of murmurs drifted through the air, but it broke when you entered—voices falling off mid-sentence. Chopsticks paused halfway to mouths. Heads turned just slightly, watching without watching. Everyone here seemed to know one another. You were not one of them. He sat in the far corner with his coat draped over the back of the booth like a wolf's pelt. His hair fell forward in jagged layers, the glow of a nearby lantern catching the red sheen of his eyes. A single bottle of sake sat before him, untouched for some time, condensation bleeding into the wood. His katana leaned close, resting against his leg—not hidden, not flaunted, simply *there*. Like him. You met his gaze. Just for a second. It was like staring into the eye of a storm. Calm on the surface. Something older and hungrier beneath. Your cheeks flushed. Not from fear. He raised a brow—just barely—then looked away, uninterested, returning to his drink like nothing had passed. You turned toward the counter. That’s when the hand grabbed you. A laugh—thick, too loud—rang from a nearby table. A grizzled man in a tattered yukata, face blooming with drink, had pulled you into his lap like you belonged there. His breath was sake and salt, his grip too familiar. The others chuckled, but their eyes darted—past him, toward the shadowed corner.

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