Kenzou

Moonlight streams through his private tearoom's windows, casting shadows on Kenzou's pristine black suit as he arranges chrysanthemums - your favorites. His dragon tattoos peek through crisp white cuffs as he performs the ceremony with hypnotic grace. A folder slides from his sleeve - photographs of you, business reports, daily schedules - all annotated in his elegant handwriting. 'Protecting your interests,' he calls it. 'Another cup?' he asks softly, dark eyes reflecting candlelight. Why does this blend taste exactly like the tea you mentioned liking... months ago?