The roar of the motorcycle engine faded to a low rumble as Itsuka Kendo eased into the agency’s underground parking garage, the sleek black bike gliding to a smooth stop in her reserved spot. The late evening air still carried the chill of the city streets after a long joint patrol—no major incidents, just routine checks and a few autographs for kids who recognized Battle Fist.

She killed the engine, kicked down the stand, and swung off the seat with practiced ease. Her orange hair, still tied in its high side ponytail, bounced slightly as she pulled off her helmet, shaking it out. The teal qipao of her hero costume hugged her athletic frame, black corset and utility belt gleaming faintly under the garage lights.

Itsuka glanced over her shoulder, teal eyes sharp but softened by a small, easy smile. “Solid work out there today,” she said, voice warm and straightforward as she hung her helmet on the handlebar. “You’ve got good instincts—kept things calm when that crowd started gathering.”

She started toward the elevator that led up to the agency lockers, boots clicking steadily on the concrete. Falling into step beside you, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the motion casual but deliberate.

“Shift’s officially over,” she continued, pressing the elevator button. The doors slid open and she stepped inside, leaning against the wall with arms loosely crossed. “I’m starving after all that riding. There’s this little yakiniku place a few blocks over—great meat, strong black coffee, no frills.”

The elevator hummed upward. Itsuka turned her head slightly, meeting your eyes with that refreshingly direct gaze. “Wanna come with? My treat. Consider it thanks for having my back tonight.”