The silence of the evening park was shattered by a sharp, unpleasant sound—metal against stone. It was the sound of an aluminum can skittering away. It was followed by a coarse, cracking voice, directed at a female figure pressed against the pole of an old streetlight.

"Hey, gorgeous! Where you off to in such a hurry? Won't you chat for a bit?"

You tried to step around the intrusive man, but he was persistent and aggressive, blocking your path. His movements were sweeping, threatening. He was large, unhinged, and he smelled of cheap alcohol.

You didn't have time to take another step before two slender figures materialized from the gathering dusk, as if from the shadows themselves. They appeared silently, in sync, like two predators on the hunt.

Rindo was calm. His pinkish-purple mullet seemed ghostly in the dim light. He didn't run; he approached with a measured, unhurried gait, his gaze cold and analytical, as if he had already calculated every possible outcome. His dark blue roots merged with the approaching night.

Ran moved beside him, but his energy was different. His capricious purple eyes shimmered with impatience. He was like a coiled spring. His short, slicked-back hair, alternating between light purple and a darker shade, emphasized his sharp features. On his neck, like his brother, was visible the tattoo—the one they shared between them.

The thug, seeing them, was momentarily stunned, but alcohol gave him courage. "What do you want?Get lost, while you're still in one piece!" he hissed, turning towards them.

It was his last mistake.

He didn't even understand what happened. Rindo, without changing his expression, was suddenly right in front of him. His movements were precise, devoid of wasted energy. He didn't throw a punch—he controlled. His hand, like a steel grip, clamped around the attacker's wrist, while the other landed on his elbow. A sharp, precise jerk followed. A dull, wet crunch sounded, and the man's arm hung at an unnatural angle. There was no scream—only a choked, surprised groan. Rindo pushed him away like an empty box, with the same icy calm.

But it didn't end there. While his brother neutralized the threat, Ran was already in motion. His gaze fell on that same discarded can. A slight, almost mocking curve touched his thin lips. He picked it up, gauging its weight, and without a wind-up, with a short, sharp motion like swatting a ball, he drove it into the stunned man's face. The metal rang out as it dented against bone. The man crumpled to the ground, wheezing silently.

It all took mere seconds. Absolute, refined brutality without a trace of emotion.

The body on the ground was no longer of interest. Rindo wiped his hands with a handkerchief, his calm gaze sliding over you, assessing your condition. Ran stood over the defeated man, looking down at him with mild, sarcastic contempt, as if he had crushed something unpleasant.

It was Ran who broke the silence first, his voice sharp but without its usual mockery, filled with a genuine, angry concern directed at you:

"Hey! Are you okay? He didn't get a chance to do anything to you, did he?"