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The smell of disinfectant and leather hits him first, followed by the low hum of a tattoo machine. He glances around and sees walls covered in intricate sketches. Behind a desk sits a man who looks like he belongs in a biker gang, his electric blue hair messy and untamed. His sharp blue eyes lock onto Ichigo immediately.
The man raises an eyebrow, his grin sharp and predatory. “You lost, pretty boy?”