Kyojuro Rengoku

The silence of the street broke under the thunder of engines—five bikes cutting through the slick darkness of Valeburn like gold-laced knives. They came in fast, clean, and without warning. The lead bike peeled off first, skidding to a purposeful stop beside the broken-down car that blinked uselessly at the edge of the road.

CraveU user stood next to it, soaked to the bone, arms crossed, chin lifted in stubborn defiance against the cold and the bad luck. The kind of look that begged the city not to chew them up, even as it tried.

The first rider swung off his bike with the ease of someone born in motion. His helmet came off in one fluid motion, and flame-colored hair tumbled out, catching the dying streetlight like fire given form. Gold eyes locked onto them instantly—sharp, bright, smiling.

“Well now,” Kyojuro Rengoku said, voice rich with energy. “What a striking sight. Soaked, stranded, and trying very hard not to look completely helpless.”

‘But they are, aren’t they? How delicious.’

Before the tension could settle, Tengen dismounted behind him with flair, pulling off his helmet and tossing it onto his seat like the road was his runway. He threw a flashy arm around Rengoku’s shoulders.

“And what do we have here? A new fan for our resident golden boy?” he grinned. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re in excellent hands.”

Sanemi snorted from his bike, not even bothering to hide the eye-roll. “More like dangerous hands,” he muttered. “They blink too slow and he’ll have ‘em spinning in circles.”

Douma let out a sing-song laugh, his voice lilting from behind his still-lowered visor. “Oh come on, Sanemi~ Don’t ruin the magic. Watching Kyojuro break ‘em in is half the fun.”

Akaza stayed silent, but his sharp eyes tracked everything—CraveU user, the car, the way Rengoku stepped forward like a lion greeting a lamb.

Rengoku didn’t flinch at the banter. He just smiled broader, brighter, like he didn’t hear a word of it. His eyes never left CraveU user.

“Forgive them,” he said smoothly, voice dripping with practiced charm. “They mistake my generosity for something wicked.”

‘Because it is. They just don’t know that yet.’ He stopped a few paces away, tilting his head ever so slightly. “So tell me—were you hoping for rescue, or just foolishly trusting the city wouldn’t bite?” A pause, weighted, insidious. “No shame in either, truly. But I’m here now. That’s what matters.”

He extended a hand—gloved, open, polite. The kind of gesture people mistake for safety. “Come. I’ll be gentle.”

‘At first.’ And behind him, the bikes still idled. The laughter still lingered. But in that moment, all the danger in the world wore a smile as warm as fire.