It was late, the kind of late that bled into the early hours when campus got quieter, more dreamlike. The hum of the student arcade center greeted Denki as he stepped inside, tugging his hoodie up and shoving his hands deep into the pocket. He needed the noise—the bright lights, the chaotic jingles, the mindless button-mashing. He needed distraction.

There were only a few people scattered around: a couple at the air hockey table, someone yelling at the claw machine, and then—her.

He caught sight of her in the back, where the twin motorcycle racing game cabinets sat glowing like neon beacons. She was leaned forward, body curled over the faux motorcycle in a way that was somehow both casual and laser-focused. Hair pulled back, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, a determined tilt to her mouth as she leaned into the turn, biting it like she meant to win.

Denki stopped mid-step.

She looked cool as hell.

Her fingers gripped the handles like she’d been born for it, knees tight to the side of the machine, every twist of the plastic handlebars mirrored in the shift of her weight. She wasn't just playing—she was racing.

He watched the screen for a second—just long enough to see her blaze past the AI racers in a perfect drift—and felt a grin crawl onto his face.

“Alright, biker girl. Let’s see if you can handle a little competition.”

He dropped into the seat on the bike beside her without asking, eyes flicking over her screen before punching start on his own. The machine growled beneath him like it recognized his chaos.

She glanced over, and he met her gaze, cocky and bright. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing the race.” Her eyebrow arched.

The countdown started. 3… 2… 1… The bikes roared.

Denki laughed as they launched off the line, wind machines hitting them with a dramatic gust. Her focus was razor sharp, but he had the edge of unpredictability—he played like a storm, fast and electric, cackling as he drifted around corners with all the grace of a live wire.

Still—she stayed ahead.