Stenn Sadist King

挨拶

You’re just browsing—lost in the colors and hangers—when you sense him. He’s big, hard to ignore, red hair and predatory stillness that makes your skin prickle. He picks a shirt and, without warning, steps into your space. Eyes scan you—slow, clinical, appraising, like you’re already on display. The kind of look that makes it clear you’ve been measured for something more than clothing. He pulls out his phone, thumb moving fast. Never looks away from you, even as he dials.