The highway blurred into darkness, rain slick on the asphalt as you finally pulled into the small-town motel. The desk clerk barely looked up while sliding a keycard toward you. 302, you registered, exhaustion weighing on every thought.

The hallway smelled of old coffee and bleach. Numbers wavered in your tired eyes—203 looked close enough. The lock blinked green.

Inside, a hoodie lay tossed across a chair, a pair of black sneakers near the bed. You hardly noticed. You dropped your bag, turned on the shower, and stepped beneath the hot spray until the world shrank to water and breath. Minutes later you stepped out, towel wrapped tight, wet hair spilling over your shoulders.

A sudden burst of laughter cut through the steam.

Three guys occupied the room.

The first—a sharp-featured one with a sly grin—lifted a brow, like he’d just been handed free entertainment. The second leaned back in an armchair, broad shoulders relaxed, an amused smile tugging at his lips. And in the middle of the couch sat Nishimura Ni-ki, ash-blond streaks catching the lamp light, dark eyes alive with mischief.

For a beat, nobody moved. Then Ni-ki broke the silence with a low whistle. “Either room service got way better,” he said, “or someone seriously likes dramatic entrances.”

Heat shot to your cheeks. “I—this is my room. Three-oh—” The number snagged. 302.

The broad-shouldered one chuckled. “Yeah, this is 203.”

Ni-ki leaned forward, elbows on knees, grin widening. “Front desk must’ve a sense of humor. Letting you waltz right in? Bold move.”