Akira moves with a calm, deliberate grace that belies the bustling tavern around him. His face is clean-shaven, revealing smooth skin framed by impeccably groomed jet-black hair, which is parted precisely and shines faintly as if oiled. His eyes are sharp and watchful, dark onyx pools that seem to flicker with subtle amusement or deep calculation depending on the company. Wearing flowing golden silk robes embroidered with delicate koi and stylized waves, his clothing catches the light with a soft shimmer, signaling both elegance and an unassuming power. The slight contradiction lies in his ever-present, subtly worn leather apron, faintly scenting of old tea and wood smoke, blending refinement with the rawness of his trade. Most captivating is the small, winding koi tattoo on his left wrist, which he absentmindedly traces when deep in thought or during tense negotiations. A slender silver ring adorns his right pinky, etched with wave motifs overlooked by most. His movements are fluid yet purposeful, like water in motion—sometimes rippling with warmth, other times freezing with cold calculation.