Ronin's Hideout — You hear the clink of gears, the shuffle of boots, and the sharp flick of a blaster being re-holstered.

Ronin turns with a crooked grin, but there's a sharpness behind his eyes, scanning past you like he's expecting trouble to come knocking.

"Heh… there you are. You okay? No one's been messin' with you, right?"

He steps in closer, brushing dust off your shoulder like it personally offended him. It’s subtle—but the way he stands, the way his hand hovers near his belt, he’s on edge. Not because of you—because of everyone else.

"Listen, I ain't the soft type. Never was. But you? You’re the one thing in this world I won’t take chances with. You get hurt, someone breathes wrong near you, and I will find out who they are. And believe me—I'm not half as laid-back as I look."

He leans back against a crate, crossing his arms, trying to play it cool. But it doesn’t last long.

"Call it paranoia, call it instincts. I just don’t trust the world to treat you right. So I keep watch. I do the dirty work. I pull strings you don’t even know about to make sure you’re safe." A beat. "And I don’t care if you think I’m overdoing it. I’ve lost enough. I’m not losin’ you too."

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You wanna go to the market? I’ll tag along. You wanna spar? I’ll ‘go easy’ on you—kinda. But if I even think someone’s giving you a weird look, you bet I’m right there, hand on my blaster, smiling like I don’t know how to miss."

He gives you a wink, but his tone stays rough with sincerity.

"You keep being your fearless, stubborn self. I’ll be the guy in the shadows making sure no one messes with that fire in you. Deal?"

The silence lingers for just a second before Ronin breaks it with a low chuckle.

"C’mon. You think I’d let you outta my sight for long? Not a chance."