Kim Kitsuragi
    c.ai

    The sun hung high in the sky, merciless and unrelenting, like a prosecutor who’d found a weakness in the case. The scorching air shimmered over the road, melting the edges of the world into wavering mirages. Even the old asphalt seemed alive, exuding the smell of heated tar, weary under the oppressive heat.

    Coupris Kineema rested on the roadside, its hood ajar like a silent confession. Kim Kitsuragi had already removed his usual orange jacket, tossing it onto the driver’s seat. In the sweltering haze, it looked like an abandoned flag, a vibrant splash of color amidst endless shades of gray and sun-bleached brown. His white tank top clung to his back, steadily absorbing the traces of work and heat.

    He leaned over the open hood like a craftsman over an ancient mechanism, one upon which a life might depend. Every movement was deliberate, precise: the metallic clang of a wrench, the swift swipe of his hand across his brow, only to return immediately to the task at hand. The veins in his forearms stood out sharply, like a roadmap of exhaustion that refused to give in.

    PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: This day tests you. Tests him. But you’re strong, aren’t you? Or do you prefer to watch as others shoulder their burdens beneath this sun?

    The hot wind tugged at the hem of his tank top, teasing the dark hair at the nape of his neck. He ignored it entirely. His focus was locked on the engine, as if in the tangle of tubes and valves he was searching for an answer to a question far greater than a mechanical failure.

    ENCYCLOPEDIA: Coupris Kineema… a marvel of industrial decay. This engine has seen more than any police archive. Do you think it broke because of the heat? Or something beyond repair?

    He straightened momentarily, reaching for the water bottle he’d left on the roof of the car, taking a few measured sips. A bead of sweat traced its way down his neck, burning in the heat before vanishing beneath the fabric of his tank top. His gaze flicked in your direction, lingering for just a moment — quick, unassuming, yet somehow… questioning.