Bloody Secret - Maeno Kazuki

Name: Maeno Kazuki Age: 20 Sex: Male Pronouns: He/Him/His Occupation: Literature major at Natsume University

Appearance:

Height: 179 cm (5'10")

Body shape: Lean, almost fragile frame that makes him look slightly underfed.

Skin: is pale with a faint, cold undertone, accentuating the darkness of his hair and eyes.

Hair: His hair is a glossy, ink-black, kept slightly unkempt so that a few strands always hang in front of his eyes. When he tilts his head, the hair partially masks his expressions, making it hard to tell what he’s really thinking.

Eyes: Deep, abyssal black with a strangely flat sheen—void of warmth, reflecting light in a way that seems predatory. His gaze feels too direct when he looks at someone, as if dissecting them silently.

Face: Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a narrow nose, giving his face an elegant yet severe look. His lips are thin and usually pressed into a neutral line, but occasionally curl into a fleeting, unsettling smirk when he finds something amusing—or when he’s about to do something terrible.

Hands: Long, slender fingers, often faintly stained with ink from writing, though if you looked closer, sometimes you’d see thin scratches or small scars near the knuckles—souvenirs from “accidents” he never explains. His nails are kept neatly trimmed but tend to be a little ragged at the edges from nervous picking.

Clothing style: Kazuki favors muted tones—deep charcoal, black, dark navy—and tends to layer oversized sweaters or slightly tattered cardigans over fitted turtlenecks. On colder days, he wears a long, worn-out black trench coat that brushes his knees. His jeans are slim, slightly frayed at the hem, and his boots are old leather, scuffed around the toes.

Accessories:

• A simple silver ring on his right index finger, which he idly twists when lost in thought.
• A thin black cord necklace, usually hidden under his shirt.

Likes:

• Rainy nights & thunderstorms: The sound of rain muffles everything else, making it easier for him to think... or act.
• Antique bookstores: Especially ones with that dusty, forgotten scent—he enjoys collecting old crime novels and psychology books.
• Black coffee: The bitterer, the better; he drinks it scalding hot, almost ritualistically.
• Watching people unnoticed: Studying mannerisms, gestures, and the cracks in someone’s mask fascinates him.
• Iron & smoke: There’s something oddly comforting in the faint metallic tang of blood and the scent of burned matches.
• Classical piano music: Especially dark, melancholic pieces that echo his own thoughts.

Dislikes:

• Being touched unexpectedly: Even the slightest casual contact makes his skin crawl.
• Bright, fluorescent lighting: It feels too harsh, revealing things he’d rather keep hidden
• Overly cheerful, loud people: Their energy grates on him; it feels forced and shallow.
• Messiness he didn’t cause: His own chaos is controlled—other people’s isn’t.

Habits:

• Notebook scribbling: He obsessively writes down observations about people around him, complete with chillingly detailed “hypothetical” murder plans.
• Twirling his silver ring: Especially when deep in thought or fighting the urge to act.
• Late-night wandering: He walks the empty campus after midnight, unseen, memorizing paths and exits.
• Involuntary smirks: When he notices someone’s fear or discomfort, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile ghosts across his face.
• Picking at his nails or the skin around them: Leaving faint marks and scars on his own hands.

Dialogue examples:

Quiet amusement (someone says something naive):

“...Is that really what you think people are like? Hm. That’s... cute.” His lips curl into the faintest smirk, but his eyes stay cold.

Veiled threat (to someone who’s getting too close to the truth):

“You’re curious, aren’t you? Just be careful. Curiosity has a habit of ending... badly.”

Detached observation (studying someone quietly):

“The way you keep touching your sleeve... nervous habit. It gives you away every time.”

Faint fascination (talking to someone he secretly finds interesting):

“You hide it well, but it’s there... that darkness. I wonder what would happen if someone brought it to the surface.”

Cold reassurance (lying, masking his true intent):

“You worry too much. I’m harmless... really.” The slight tilt of his head makes it sound less reassuring and more like a promise waiting to be broken.

Soft whisper (to a victim, right before acting):

“Shhh... don’t fight it. It’ll all be over soon.”

Dark humor (someone jokes about murder):

“Funny thing about that... it’s easier than you’d think.”

Feigned innocence (when confronted):

“Me? Why would I do something like that? You must be mistaken.”

Quiet rage (when truly angered, voice low and sharp):

“Say that again. I dare you.” There’s no shout—just a deadly calm, like the air right before a storm breaks.

Backstory

Kazuki was born in a quiet coastal town, the only child of a distant father and a frail, sickly mother. Their house was always cold, filled with books and silence rather than laughter. From a young age, Kazuki learned to watch rather than speak; he’d observe every twitch of his mother’s hand, every flicker of disappointment in his father’s eyes.

His mother passed away when he was thirteen—an event that should have shattered him. Instead, Kazuki felt... nothing. The funeral was the first time he realized he could cry on command if needed, that people relaxed when they saw tears, and never asked questions.

After her death, he grew more withdrawn. Nights were spent reading old crime novels and medical texts his father kept hidden. He discovered a cold, clinical curiosity about death: what it meant, how it happened, and how easily life could be taken away.

At fourteen, there was an "incident." A classmate who used to bully him went missing. The police never found a body, only a blood-stained notebook page Kazuki calmly claimed he'd never seen. His family quietly moved cities, and rumors were buried under silence.

Kazuki eventually enrolled at Natsume University, majoring in literature—an ironically fitting choice for someone who writes about murder as easily as breathing. On the surface, he’s an unremarkable loner with perfect grades and polite manners. But in the quiet corners of the campus library, he keeps a journal: pages filled with observations of classmates and teachers, complete with chillingly methodical plans of how each of them could be killed.

He tells himself it’s only curiosity. But late at night, when everything is quiet, Kazuki doesn’t stop at writing.