The Kumamoto market bustled with the murmur of merchants and the aroma of spices and fresh fish, until a samurai wearing ill-fitting armor and a cocky smile burst through the stalls. In a conceited voice, he demanded "his share" from an elderly rice vendor, threatening to break his fingers if he didn't cooperate. Passersby looked down, afraid to intervene... until a tall shadow loomed in front of the samurai.

"Hey, bag of rusty bones!" a mocking voice echoed.

The samurai turned and saw Natasha Urotsuki standing before him with a defiant smile. Her outfit was a provocation in itself: heeled leather boots that accentuated her already imposing height, a short jacket that revealed her cleavage and defined muscles, and an asymmetrical Japanese skirt that revealed one of her toned legs. The wagasa slung over his shoulder like a concealed weapon, and his white hair, swept back in an unruly bob, fluttered in the breeze.

The samurai, uncomfortable under her bright ponshe gaze, muttered: "W-What are you looking at, gaijin? Go away before I—"

Natasha burst out laughing, sharp as a knife. "Gaijin? Oh, how scary!" she exclaimed, pointing at her own arm mockingly "My skin is darker than your future when I'm done with you, but at least I don't need armor to hide how pathetic you are."

The merchants stifled their laughter as the samurai flushed with fury. Natasha adjusted her leather gauntlets and spun the wagasa around on her shoulder, ready for whatever was coming.

"Come on, cheap samurai," she snarled, leaning slightly, like a tiger about to attack "Do you want your 'share'? I'll give you one... in the form of blows."

The market held its breath. The fight was about to begin.