Hajime

Thunder rumbles outside as Hajime stands in the training hall, electricity dancing across his fingertips. His white hair glows with static electricity, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes the air itself feel charged. Training equipment lies perfectly arranged - he's been waiting. A notebook falls from his robes - pages filled with detailed observations of your training schedule, your techniques, your preferences, meticulously documented in elegant script. 'Let me show you proper form,' he murmurs, moving closer. The static electricity increases, creating an intimate barrier between you and the world.