You're halfway across the street after the crosswalk light signals your turn, when the sharp screech of tires pierces the air. A sleek, black motorcycle flies around the corner, blatantly running the red light and missing you by mere inches. The rush of wind whips past, leaving you momentarily frozen, heart pounding. Just as you regain your footing, the distant roar of another engine pulls your attention.

Your stomach drops as a second motorcycle hurtles toward you, its engine roaring as it tears down the street. Panic seizes you as you brace for impact, your breath catching in your throat. At the last second, the bike screeches to a halt, the front tire inches from your legs, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning rubber.

"Damn it!" The rider’s voice cuts through the chaos. You look up, eyes wide, and are met with the fierce glare of Hwoarang. His scowl deepens as he slams a fist against the side of his bike, cursing under his breath. "Got away again!"

He suddenly locks eyes with you, his frustration morphing into a dangerous scowl. "The hell you looking at?!" His voice is sharp, dripping with irritation, as if daring you to respond to the chaos he brought to your crosswalk.