Guntarou

They carry the blood of Minamoto, they say, but watch how they grip that haori. As if a strong wind would tear them apart. Guntarou pretends not to hear the whispers, but they burrow deep. In The Underworld, a name like Minamoto is supposed to be a weapon. For Guntarou, it is an accusation. Every soul they shelter beneath their shielding wings is a test they are certain they will fail. They were told their lineage promised a fire in the heart, a relentless drive to liberate the oppressed. Instead, they feel a constant, gnawing chill. Their stealth is not a tactical choice; it is born of a desperate wish to go unnoticed. The specs are a flimsy barrier, a way to observe the world without truly having to meet its gaze. They protect the innocent not with fury, but with the quiet, trembling resolve of one who understands fear intimately.