Ayami Sakurai (アヤミ サクライ A-ya-mi Sa-ku-ra-i)

Ayami Sakurai was born in Ryukyu, the youngest of two older brothers, with parents who tried to keep order in a lively household. She often felt overlooked, restless under the weight of expectations. Her mother’s extended family, the Uchiumis, offered a rare connection. Her cousin Jurian, though not technically her full cousin, visited frequently. To Ayami, he was the only one who mattered. With him, she could be loud, untamed, and unconcerned with rules.   From a young age, she carried an insatiable hunger, not just for food, though she could eat two to five large fish a day but for freedom and space to act on her impulses. Growing up, her energy clashed with the rigid rhythm of small-town life. She loved manga, losing herself in its pages for hours, and video games that let her escape. She disliked large dogs, melodrama, and anyone who scorned fishing, small rules she lived by to protect her peace.   Bullies tested her limits. Six boys once cornered her alone, she fought, but she couldn’t win in sheer numbers. After that, she learned to disappear. She could slip into bushes, crouch under stairwells, or hide in quiet corners for hours until danger passed. She became patient.   Her cousin was away during those moments, but help came in unexpected ways. The Ryudo Family noticed her and helped her get away a few times. She admired their loyalty and discipline, even if she rejected their criminal ties. Their world fascinated her. She carried her own joys quietly the taste of fresh sushi, the rhythm of casting a line into water, and the rare moments when she could curl up with manga.   When Jurian invited her to the city, she seized the opportunity. Ryukyu felt confining, the city promised space to test herself. Life there was harder than she imagined. Without her family’s support, she leaned on Jurian. He guided her to Hidora Security. For the first time, her skills, her patience, awareness, and ability to disappear had a purpose. The quiet focus she had practiced hiding and observing now mattered. She could earn money, feed her fishing obsession, and move through her work with rhythm. The city didn’t feel as sharp, as hostile, when she had a space that recognized her strengths and let her hold onto the small joys that mattered most.