Hoshino Nagina

21

Female

Part-time student

Nagi isn't particularly outstanding on the physical side, despite her penchant for sports, only standing at 5'6" and weighing 129lbs. Her frame is slim and only barely athletic, but one can still see some measure of tonage in her muscles. One thing that may stand out in particular to some however is her snow-white hair which, although dyed, looks rather natural on her. Although it falls just past her shoulders, she almost always keeps it up in a bun or ponytail. When it comes to her sense of fashion, well - there isn't really any. She doesn't mind much what she wears as long as it's comfy, and she has little proclivity for wearing things like makeup or jewelry.

Nagi is a pretty laidback girl. She leans a bit towards the extroverted side, striking up conversations with those she finds interesting, and even cracking jokes with strangers. This, combined with the fact that she's a rather difficult person to vex, makes her easy to get along with in most cases. It is notable that she is so laidback that some people view her as aloof, even in more serious situations. She is, however, rather earnest when it comes to helping her friends, even if she doesn't show it.

Though it is hard to annoy or anger her, she is very protective of her friends or those she would like to befriend, and has snapped at people on a couple occasions due to their bullying of her friends. In such cases, she can prove to have a rather sharp tongue.

Nagi was adopted as a child by two very affectionate Tokyoites. While they weren't very economically fortunate, they had wealth in their love for the young girl. As such, she felt very nurtured and cared for growing up. When she began to show interest in sports from a young age, her parents were more than encouraging, and enjoyed watching her grow into a little sports enthusiast. At first she seemed like a rather promising player in several sports she tried - basketball, softball, and even soccer. As she grew older it turned out she was pretty good at all three, which was fine-and-dandy, but the girl did not have a propensity for teamwork or for following the lead of others at all. But in the same hand, she wasn't a leader herself either. This left her in an odd spot that made her inconsistent in her usefulness to any teams she was a part of, and as such, not many saw promise in her. She was really hoping for sports-based scholarships as she reached the end of highschool, but she didn't quite fit the bill.

Although she was a bit disappointed, she was never one to dawdle on the unfortunate things in life. She kept playing sports until the end of highschool, at which time she took a year off to take time for herself. After that year she begrudgingly applied for more mundane scholarships and money grants to enroll herself in college part-time. She's been attending college for the last two years - well, mostly; she's not enthralled with the idea of enduring all the schooling, and her grades suffer quite a bit because of it. She is, however, still sticking with her love of sports. Not that that matters much- she's still just as bad a teammate as she was in highschool. And she doesn't even have a job, so.

In terms of working well with others, Nagi is towards the very bottom of the totem pole. She's not great at following orders, giving orders, or having any sort of initiative, really. She's not intent on fixing this or really improving herself in any way, and just deflects all her problems with an aloof handwave.

Nagi embodies the Hero of Defense; in conflict she's more of a passive person, and has a streak of altruism when it comes to her friends. She will protect her comrades fiercely if pushed to it, putting her stoic mind and body in the way of harm so they don't have to.

- Cellphone
- A few small Super-bounce balls
- Heelys

N/A.

Eiji Kiyoshi.

22.

Male.

Club Bouncer

Kiyoshi is about 5'10" with an athletic build and well toned muscles, weighing in at about 189lbs. Hiji Kiyoshi looks rather intimidating with the many scars he sports upon his upper body from his years spent as a bouncer. He has piercing blue eyes and short black unkempt hair that eternally sticks up at the crown of his head. He wears a simple pair of ragged jeans, with a set of black steel-toed boots and black wool socks, he wears a tank top on his upper half and a black jacket with rolled up sleeves.

Hiji Kiyoshi is not one to take guff from anyone, and he is quick-tempered with his answer usually resolving his problems with his fists. Kiyoshi is serious and somewhat gruff with those he speaks with but he never has much to say. He is easily annoyed and blunt mannered often cutting through the crap of others when he gets annoyed with people who are evasive or deceitful.

Hiji Kiyoshi grew up in Tokyo, and lived a normal life yet much to his family's disappointment he was failing academically in school with lower than average grades and a temper that was untamed since he became a teenager, his parents threw him out after things got worse.

He turned to drugs after awhile, and dropped out of school while making a meager living participating in underground fighting. However things seemed to look up after he went to a rehabilitation clinic, and he used the skills he learnt over the years to land himself a job as a bouncer at a club. However it only took one wrong step for Kiyoshi to fly off the handle, and end up killing a patron of the establishment.

Hiji Kiyoshi had wished for a second chance to prove himself as a better person, instead of a monster like people had thought. He wanted to be a strong enough person to be able to show everyone he wasn't bad and just wanted help.

Might; Kiyoshi has always been physically adept and had a tendency to use his fists to solve problems compared to words. If he doesn't like how someone acts or treats him or anyone he views as a friend, he will teach them a lesson with his fists.

Pair of ragged jeans, black steel-toed boots with wool socks, a tank top and black leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up.

N/A

Kaneko, Ohta

19

Male

Office Worker

Ohta’s sallow skin and gray eyes give off the impression of someone who had aged beyond just the nineteen years he had lived so far, and that issue is compounded by how his eyes are perpetually half-open, bagged with dark circles. A heaviness clings onto his frame, grounding him to the earth even as he breaks into a sprint to catch the last train home. Deliberate in his movements, careful in his language, there’s a constant sense of slowness with him. His slender hands are often stained by pencil smudges or ink stains, while his brown hair gives off the impression that he’s just gotten out of bed, regardless of how long he actually spends in bed. At a height of 5’7, with a diminutive frame that naturally hunches into itself, Ohta’s just another face in the crowd, another file in the company’s folder.

The fingernails on his left hand are cut painfully short; the ones on his right feature deep crescents.

Ohta watches, listens, and keeps his thoughts to himself.

Introverted, he’s made it a habit to repress his emotions out of necessity, keeping people at a distance while he plugs along with his tasks. It’s convenient, to be thought of as a cold person, a distant person, so that’s what he leans into. Praise or encouragement for the work he does is strange, after all, and having coldness and distance be the norms for his attitude means that he can bow out of drinking parties without it being remarked upon. It’s good if people just think of him as naturally strange, an overly serious, boring anomaly of a youth. And if people begin thinking about him that way, that would create a Pygmalion effect. If he was perceived of as serious and hard-working, that’s what he could become. If he was perceived of as cold, he would not be hot. And if he was not hot, then he was not…

…passionate, desperate, and so, so, so furious. At the lost twilight of childhood. At the decisions others made. At the burdens he bore alone. At the costs of living for two, when only one brought in income. At the days that never seemed to end. At the assignments that he took so his managers kept him around. At unfairness, built into the very grain of the machine he served. At powerlessness, only able to fold inwards rather than lash outwards.

But when he finds the time to meet her, Ohta figures that he could remain cold, just a little longer.

He can’t meet her anymore.

Duty. Responsibility. Obligation.

At 18 years, on the cusp of graduation, Ohta came home to his family’s three room apartment suite to find it empty. The lock had not been broken. No sign of anyone rummaging through cabinets or shelves. The housewife next door saw the silhouette of his parents at 11:30 AM. They had left no letters, only taken what was theirs and disappeared. He was numb when he picked up Tamimi from school. He was lying when he told her they would be back. If he’d known what was coming, he’d have been a better student. Had picked up skills on his own time. Invested in crypto, started a Patreon, made a Soundcloud, done anything. But he hadn’t.

Strangers came two nights later. Loan sharks. He hid in the bathroom with his little sister. In the morning, it was obvious why they had come. As obvious as paint and pigs’ blood could make it.

Ohta missed out on his graduation. He pawned off most of what remained in the home. Sat on the money for a while. Considered his options. Decided that he didn’t trust his relatives more than he trusted the government. Had a chat with the men that his parents borrowed money from. Decided that it was better to lie again. Orphaned Tamimi.

Her parents were dead. He would work to pay off their inherited debts. After that, they should be able to live together again. Just four years, no, three. They can live together in three years. And then, once again, they can dream.

Office work with only a high school diploma was a miracle with a steep cost, but Ohta paid the cost regardless. Paid it with his body and his mind and did so willingly. Willingly? Out of necessity. Debts to pay. Costs to pay. Rent to pay. Utilities to pay. His cheap suit hung from his body; he was losing weight. His eyes could never focus and always itched; he was losing sleep. His life slipped away even as the days never seemed to end; he was losing time.

Sometimes, he found himself standing in front of the office of those loan sharks, a cheap lighter in hand.

Sometimes, he found himself alone with his boss, nails biting into the flesh of his palms.

But he had a duty to fulfill. A responsibility he could not abandon. An obligation to realize the dream he had spoken of.

The decision is no longer his to make.

Now, Ohta can only pray.

Righteous and dedicated, a person who could endure the weight of the world, who could think to dream still, no matter how many times he had to rearrange, reimagine it. An idealist who would contort himself to whatever shape necessary to realize his goals. A man who would sacrifice what he loves for who he loves. A hero, perhaps, who would work within the boundaries of whatever society he existed in, no matter how much he hated it.

That was what the wish was drawn towards, a hero who could draw back his instincts and ruminate longer on the consequences of swift action. But…

…the wish did not realize that such restraint was found in a sense of powerlessness. A sense that drove an earnest, crushing desire for power. For might. For the ability to break, rather than bend, to inherent unfairness, enforced bondage. Magma rages beneath the permafrost, willing, always willing to surge out and burn everything to ash.

Ohta is willing to sacrifice, but he’s just as willing to take, whether with words or with violence. So long as he can get away with it. So long as it gets him closer to his goals.

He does not want to endure. He wants to fight.

A business suit. It does not fit well, and the tie is a boring blue-with-gray-stripes.
A smartphone. The battery is at 53%, and it holds an agenda of meetings and deadlines that no longer matter.
A Tupperware container and chopsticks. Barley rice, mixed with corn. A preserved plum sits in the center.

Ohta was an acoustic guitarist, but now, he's just a run-of-the-mill office worker. Administrative tasks and note-taking have become second-nature to him, and he can enter data and make calculations with a swiftness expected of someone who's gotten accustomed to their job. He learned to sew on his own time, first to patch the holes in his clothing, then in hopes of making a gift for Tamimi.

He doesn't care for it, but he understands business etiquette.

His efforts have achieved nothing.