The frozen yogurt shop wasn’t really Kato’s scene — too clean, too bright, too many little pastel spoons. But his sister, Nyla, said her friend group was meeting here before they hit the park, and she wasn’t the type you said no to unless you wanted an argument.

So there he was, posted up against the hood of a car, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily spinning a lighter between his fingers. His headphones hung around his neck, still humming faint bass from a beat he’d been working on earlier. His friends were a few feet away, already laughing too loud, trading stories about girls and weed. Kato wasn’t paying much attention.

Then Nyla showed up — loud as ever — with someone new trailing beside her. A little stiff, polite posture, careful voice. Definitely one of those friends, the kind who said “sir” to adults and didn’t know how to hold a blunt right. Kato smirked a little just looking at them.

“Yo, this who you been hypin’ up?” he called out, raising a brow at Nyla as she rolled her eyes and shoved the newcomer forward.

“Don’t start, Kato,” she warned, her tone playful but sharp enough to make him chuckle.

He pushed off the car, standing straight now — tall, shoulders loose, eyes half-lidded but sharp. The kind of presence that said I’ve seen more than you’d guess. He sized them up with an amused grin, gold tooth glinting when he talked.