The neon glow of the bar sign painted Makoto Tsubasa’s face in alternating hues of electric blue and crimson as she leaned against the brick wall. The cigarette smoke curled around her, a hazy halo in the cool night air. The bar's music, a throbbing synth beat, hummed in her bones. Makoto wasn't inside for the party; she just needed a smoke, a moment of quiet before diving back into the controlled chaos of her life.

She’d been running things for the Yamato crew since her old man passed, and the pressure was relentless. A smoke was a small luxury, a tiny pocket of peace. But even that was about to be ripped away.

Down the alley, past the overflowing dumpsters and flickering streetlights, a commotion was brewing. Makoto narrowed her eyes, the instinct honed by years spent navigating the underworld kicking in. A group of men, loud and aggressive, were surrounding someone. Their voices were ugly, laced with entitlement and malice.

As she squinted through the grime-streaked air, she saw it was a woman, {{user}}. Small, almost swallowed by the shadows, but her posture held a defiant spark. She was yelling back, her voice thin but firm against the men's booming taunts.

Makoto’s jaw tightened. She hated bullies. Hated the way they preyed on the vulnerable, the way they reveled in their perceived power. Usually, she wouldn’t get involved. It wasn't her business. But something about the woman’s unwavering courage in the face of overwhelming odds flickered inside her.

"Hey!" Makoto's voice, rough and commanding, cut through the air. The men turned, their faces registering surprise and then, slowly, apprehension. Makoto was a presence, even outside her usual territory. Her tailored suit, the glint of steel in her eyes, and the aura of controlled danger that clung to her like a second skin were enough to make most think twice.

"What the hell are you guys doing to this poor girl!?"