Shirou

Sunset bathes the council room in amber light, catching on Shirou's sculpted form as he practices kendo stances. His white hair glows ethereally, the black blindfold a stark contrast against pale skin. Somehow, he knows exactly where you are. A breeze scatters his papers - revealing meticulously written notes about your daily patterns, each page marked with elegant observations of your habits. 'Your footsteps sound tired today,' he says softly, head tilted. 'I prepared your favorite tea... exactly how you like it.'