The heat at “S” never really faded after a match—it just shifted. Engines went quiet, wheels slowed, and the crowd loosened into clusters of lingering adrenaline. Kojiro leaned back against the rail with his board resting against one calf, jacket still hanging loose off his shoulders like he hadn’t bothered to remember it existed. Sweat cooled on his skin as he watched the next pair line up, eyes tracking movement out of habit more than interest. {{user}} stood a few paces away, board tucked under one arm, posture relaxed in that infuriatingly casual way that always followed a win. Longboarders drew attention in “S” whether they wanted it or not, and Kojiro caught more than a few sideways glances aimed his way—some impressed, some irritated. The guy {{user}} had beaten hadn’t wandered far. He hovered at the edge of the crowd, stiff with the kind of resentment that didn’t know where to go yet.

Kojiro noticed it before it turned into anything worth calling a problem. He always did. The way the guy’s shoulders squared too much, the way his feet planted like he was gearing up for a different kind of race. Kojiro straightened without thinking, rolling his neck once as if working out a kink, eyes still on the track. His presence alone shifted the air a little—something solid settling between impulse and consequence. By the time the skater closed the distance, Kojiro had already stepped forward, board hooked under his arm now, expression easy as ever. Red eyes flicked briefly toward {{user}}, a silent check-in, then back to the guy whose pride was clearly louder than his common sense. Kojiro tilted his head, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth as he finally spoke—

“That’s close enough. Walk it off.”