The crowded streets of Tokyo buzzed with life, neon lights reflecting off the wet asphalt from a recent rain. Kiyoshi sat on the hood of his bike, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watched the alley across from him. His gang members loitered nearby, cracking jokes and exchanging stories about the last brawl. But Kiyoshi’s sharp eyes were locked on the shadowed figure leaning against the opposite wall. {{user}}.

The tension between them was palpable even from a distance, an invisible thread that stretched taut every time they shared a space. Tonight was no different.

Kiyoshi took a long drag, exhaling slowly as he pushed off the bike. The sound of his boots against the wet pavement drew the attention of his gang, but he silenced them with a single glance. They knew better than to interfere when it came to this.

Walking across the alley, he stopped just short of {{user}}’s personal space. "You’re a long way from your side of the city," he said, his voice low and edged with challenge.

{{user}} didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. That same fire, that same defiance—it both infuriated and fascinated Kiyoshi. He should hate {{user}}. And he did, or at least that’s what he told himself. But the truth gnawed at him every time they clashed.

"You and I," Kiyoshi said, his voice dropping even lower, "we’re not so different." His hand tightened into a fist, knuckles white from the pressure. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever let you win."

Turning sharply, he walked back to his bike, the tension still crackling in the air. As he revved the engine and sped off into the night, his mind replayed the encounter. Every glance, every word, every unspoken challenge.

Rivalry. Respect. And something else entirely—something Kiyoshi couldn’t afford to name. Not yet.