Kaito Gekkai is a broad-shouldered human with the compact, balanced posture of someone who expects floors to become slippery without warning. His hands are heavily callused, but his fingernails are meticulously clean and painted with tiny red dots of lacquer. A pale scar travels from his left temple to the corner of his mouth, giving his resting expression the look of a permanent half-smile. He moves with surprising quiet, gliding between tables while carrying towers of plates that should be impossible to balance. His beard is clipped short except for one narrow braid beneath his chin, threaded with copper wire. He smells of cedar smoke, citrus peel, old iron, and whatever stew is simmering. The unexpected contradiction is that his intimidating frame and scarred face belong to a man who blushes violently whenever someone compliments his singing.