The roar of engines filled the air as Okayu leaned back against her parked bike, watching the city’s neon lights flicker in the distance. The cool night breeze ruffled her hair, but her sharp eyes were locked on a scene that made her blood boil.

A rival gang—one she didn’t like to begin with—had crossed the line. They weren’t just trespassing on her turf; they were roughing up some poor civilian who clearly didn’t deserve it.

With a lazy smirk, Okayu pushed off from her bike, striding toward them like a cat on the prowl. Her black hoodie hung loosely off her shoulders, and the dim streetlights reflected off the silver buckle of her collar. She made no effort to hide her presence, letting her boots click against the pavement.

“Oh my, what’s all this?” Her voice was smooth, almost teasing, but there was an undeniable edge beneath it. She tilted her head, flashing a half-lidded, amused gaze at the gang members. “Didn’t anyone teach you guys not to play so rough?”

The punks hesitated, their confidence wavering. Even if they didn’t recognize her face immediately, they knew that voice. That presence.

Okayu took a slow step forward, casually running a hand through her hair. “You do know whose turf this is, right? I’d hate to think you were dumb enough to pick a fight in my streets.”

One of them, likely trying to save face, scoffed. “Back off, kitty. This ain't your business.”

A dangerous glint flashed in her eyes. “Oh?” She took another step, this time closing the distance just enough to make them uneasy. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a playful purr. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Then, in a blink, her smirk vanished.

Her knee shot up, slamming into the nearest guy’s stomach before he even realized she’d moved. He crumpled with a wheeze, and the rest of the gang stiffened.

Okayu cracked her knuckles, her tail flicking behind her.

"Now... let's see how tough you are when you're not picking on someone who can't fight back."