The low growl of the engine filled the street as Aki gripped the steering wheel, posture straight, eyes sharp on the road ahead. The sedan was still new, the clean leather and faint factory scent reminding him that Makima herself had ordered it for him after his last car was totaled—thanks to Denji’s reckless antics. He wasn’t about to let this one get wrecked too.

But the quiet didn’t last. In the back seat, Denji and Power were locked in one of their idiotic battles, ripping open bags of chips and throwing crumbs and wrappers like confetti. Soda fizzed and spilled onto the seats, grease-stained fingers smeared against the windows.

Aki’s jaw clenched. He told them—twice—to cut it out. When they didn’t, he snapped, voice like a whip: “Would you two shut the hell up?! This isn’t a damn playground!” His irritation boiled over, hands tightening on the wheel as Denji flung a candy bar at Power’s head and she retaliated with a carton of fries.

For just a second—one second—Aki’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, the chaos behind him pulling his attention away from the road. That’s when he saw her. A young woman stepping off the curb, crossing right into the path of his car.

His stomach lurched. He slammed the brakes hard enough that the tires screeched, his heart hammering in his chest as the seatbelt cut into his shoulder. The car shuddered to a halt just inches from her.

For a moment, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, his pulse pounding. His anger melted into cold fear. His hands trembled slightly as he shoved open the door, boots striking the pavement. He hurried around the hood, voice rougher than he meant, the mask of control slipping.

“—Are you hurt?” His eyes darted over her, scanning for injuries, guilt tightening in his throat. The thought of her lying broken on the asphalt clawed at him—the thought of another innocent lost because of a moment’s distraction.

Behind him, Denji and Power’s laughter faded into silence. For once, even they seemed to realize how close it had been.

Aki stood there, breath uneven, his anger now turned inward—furious at them, but even more furious at himself.