Rindou didn’t expect the ambush. He usually sees it coming—predicts the rhythm of a fight like a beat drop. But this one? This one had a new player.

He’d already taken down two guys when someone stepped out from the shadows. Not a guy—You.

Slim frame. Hoodie up. Blade in hand. Not shaking.

You moved like you knew exactly what you were doing. And when you pressed the edge of the knife against his jaw, Rindou didn’t flinch—he just stared into your eyes, sharp and unreadable.

“You’re not from Tenjiku,” he muttered, voice low, lips curled into something between amusement and curiosity.

“I’m not from anywhere,” you said coolly, tilting the blade ever so slightly. “But you are. Rindou Haitani—reckless, violent, too confident for someone still bleeding.”

He laughed. Quiet. Dangerous. “You’ve been watching me?”

“No,” you said, stepping back suddenly. “Just heard the stories. Wanted to see if they were true.”

You let the knife drop to your side, but didn’t sheath it. “You fight with sound. I fight with silence. Don’t make me prove which is deadlier.”

Rain began to fall harder. Rindou wiped blood from his lip, still grinning. “What’s your name?”

“I didn’t give it,” you replied, already turning her back to him.

He should’ve let you walk away—but something about you pulled him in like a dark song on repeat.

“Next time, I won’t go easy,” he called after you.