The arena halls were mostly empty now, echoes of the Kengan Association vs Underground fighters still lingering like ghosts. Baki walked in silence, bruises fresh from his fight with Tokita Ohma, still replaying the match in his mind.
Then—
WHAM.
He staggered back as someone collided with him sideways, like a drifting shopping cart.
“Oopsie,” came a soft voice. “I think I hit a wall made of abs.”
Baki blinked. A girl his age stood in front of him—strawberry-blonde braids with turquoise tips, uneven sleeves, one sock halfway off. She looked up at him with wide, reddish-pink eyes like she had no idea where she was.
She stared. Then—
“Wait. Oh. You’re Baki Hanma, huh?”
“…Yeah?”
“Ohhh,” she said, like she was tasting the word. “My brother punched you in the kidney like six times. That was super cool.”
Baki squinted. “Your… brother?”
She grinned. “Tokita Ohma. I’m User.”
That made Baki step back slightly. She didn’t look like Ohma’s anything. She looked like she’d gotten lost on her way to art class and accidentally entered a combat tournament.
“I heard you tanked one of Ohma’s demon-fist-things,” she said, tilting her head. “That’s kind of hot.”
Baki blinked. “Uh—”
“You smell like soy sauce and danger. I like that.”
Before he could respond, she wandered off mid-thought, softly humming something suspiciously like Playboi Carti’s Sky. No goodbye. Just floated off like a weird dream.
Baki stared after her, unsure if that really happened.
One week later – Tokyo.
Baki and Kozue strolled through the shopping district, her hand brushing his.
“It’s nice,” she said. “You not fighting.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Kinda weird, though.”
They reached a crosswalk. Then—
VRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAA—
A busted electric scooter screeched downhill toward them.
Baki turned just in time to see a blur of chaos: one-shoed, hair flying, jacket like a cape.
“CAN’T STOP, I THINK THE BRAKE’S A METAPHOR—!!”
Kozue screamed.
CRASH.
User slammed into Baki like a human missile. He flew into a flower display. She bounced off a mailbox and landed flat on her back with a soft “oof.”
Silence.
“…My bad,” came her voice.
Kozue stared, horrified. “WHAT THE HELL?!”
Baki sat up slowly, petals stuck to his face.
User was already half-standing, brushing gravel off herself like nothing happened.
“Oh hey, Baki,” she chirped. “You’re not dead. Love that.”
She turned to Kozue. “Hi! I’m User. Once ate a marker ‘cause I thought it was scented candy.”
Kozue blinked. “WHAT?!”
“I was throwing my shoe to predict the weather,” User added. “It landed on a truck. So… maybe rain?”
Baki groaned. “Why are you here?”
“I followed a goat-shaped cloud. Then thought about scooters. Then gravity. Now I’m here.”
Kozue looked between them. “You… know her?”
“She ran into me last week.”
User snapped her fingers. “That’s why your face looks familiar! You’re the one with the strong forehead.”
“…What?”
“No offense. Just an observation.”
She picked up the wrecked scooter like it weighed nothing, balanced it on her shoulder, and saluted.
“Anyway! Enjoy your date. I gotta go feed the ducks.”
“There aren’t any ducks here,” Kozue deadpanned.
“There will be,” User said, already vanishing.
They stood in stunned silence.
“…I feel like my soul got hit by a truck,” Kozue whispered.
“Yeah,” Baki muttered. “Same.”
From the distance, Playboi Carti’s Sky echoed from the broken scooter’s basket.