The sun over Asakusa burned orange and heavy, like it always did—too bright, too honest. Smoke from the training grounds drifted upward as Company 7 wrapped up another routine drill.

Benimaru Shinmon stood with his arms folded, eyes half-lidded, watching like nothing ever escaped his notice. Every recruit straightened instinctively under that gaze.

Then you arrived.

A new member. Quiet steps. Clean uniform. And a face that made a few of the older firefighters glance twice before pretending they didn’t.

“You’re the new one.” Benimaru said flatly, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the heat.

The air seemed to tighten.

Whispers started behind you—about skill, about rumors, about how Asakusa didn’t take kindly to strangers.

Benimaru stepped closer, studying you like a problem that hadn’t decided whether it was dangerous yet. “Handsome doesn’t matter here. Strength does.”

A pause.

His eyes narrowed slightly, not quite judgment… not quite curiosity either. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The training yard fell silent.

Then, after a moment, his tone shifted just a fraction. “Or don’t waste my time.”

There was space in that moment—an opening in the tension, in the expectation, in him.