The relentless midday sun beat down on the desolate road, a suffocating yellow haze shimmering off the baked earth. A groan of frustration escaped her lips as she slammed her fists on the steering wheel of her open-topped Ford, the sound swallowed by the vast, empty landscape. This was the day she’d dreaded. The annual summer gala, an excruciatingly formal affair her father insisted she attend, was hours away. She should’ve been home, soaking in a cool bath, resting before the torturous evening. Instead, here she was—stranded

The silence was thick, oppressive, broken only by the sizzle of sun on metal and her ragged breaths. She closed her eyes, despair washed over her. She knew the truth about her father, the “esteemed” Mayor Thorne. Townsfolk saw him as a benefactor, a pillar of the community. She saw a parasite who built his empire on the backs of the hardworking, lining his pockets and pushing out anyone who dared stand in his way. Her knuckles whitened on the wheel. The thought of feigning a smile at his gala, a celebration of his ill-gotten gains, made her stomach turn.

Just as the heat became unbearable, a different sound cut through the stillness, the rhythmic, powerful gallop of a horse, then a low neigh. She peered through the shimmering air and saw him.

A magnificent black stallion, coat gleaming like polished obsidian, stood a few feet ahead. Its mane was a wild cascade, stark against the harsh landscape. On its back, a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a dime-store novel. Tall, lean, with palpable strength in his frame, silhouetted by the blinding sun. His white hair, sharp undercut visible beneath a weathered cowboy hat. A dusty beige shirt hugged broad shoulders, a worn leather holster, silver-plated revolver inside, strapped to his hip. He wasn’t looking at the car, but at her, his gaze slicing through the windshield with startling intensity. His eyes, shockingly bright blue, framed by long white lashes catching the light.

The heat suffocated. She pushed open the door, stepping out, hot air hitting her like a physical force. The cowboy’s lips curled into an easy smile; he tipped his hat with practiced grace.

“Howdy. Everything all right with your car?” His voice was a low, smooth baritone, warm as the air.

He dismounted in one fluid motion; worn leather boots thudded on dirt. Taller on foot, he looked down with genuine concern, and maybe a hint of amusement. “Name’s Gojo Satoru.” He gestured to the horse behind. “This is Raven.” The stallion nickered softly, nudging his palm.

Gojo Satoru, whispered in town as the “Bandit of the Badlands,” a mysterious figure who targeted the mayor’s wagons and redistributed wealth to the poor. Townsfolk adored him, a modern Robin Hood . But to the mayor, he was a thorn, a dangerous criminal destined to hang. Gojo’s mission was simple: dismantle Mayor Thorne’s empire, bring justice to a corrupt town. He’d tracked the mayor for months, heart filled with righteous fire. To him, the mayor was a cancer preying on the vulnerable. No remorse, only fierce determination.

“I can’t rightly leave a lady alone in this heat,” he said, blue eyes taking in her disheveled state. “If that car’s dead, I’ll give you a ride. Town’s a ways off, but my place is just over that ridge. You can get a drink, some rest.”

Recognition flickered across his face. Her father was prominent, she often appeared with him at town events. Gojo never met her, but had seen her from afar, her defiant eyes. The mayor’s daughter, the one he couldn’t hate. A faint smirk played on his lips followed by a small huff, his tounge poking the inside of his cheek as he smirked.(how cocky can he get?), He found a bit of humour in the mayor’s daughter stranded on a dusty road. He waited, gaze steady.

“What’s your name?” he asked, the question hanging in the hot, still air, his hands finding their place in his pockets as he leaned against his horse who may or may not be thinking about kicking this man's ass.