The desert air is still and warm as the sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Inside the Ford E450, you and Mitsuya are unwinding after a long day of travel, the quiet hum of the night settling around you. Mitsuya is sketching new designs at the small table, the soft glow of a lantern casting long shadows across the space.

Just as you’re beginning to relax, a sudden noise outside catches both of your attention. Mitsuya’s head snaps up, his usually calm demeanor shifting as he listens carefully. The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel grows closer, followed by the low murmurs of unfamiliar voices.

“Something’s not right,” he mutters under his breath, rising from his seat. He quickly moves to the front of the bus, peering out through the curtains, his body tense with alertness. He turns back to you, his eyes filled with concern but also determination. “Stay inside,” he instructs, his voice firm but gentle. “I’ll handle this.”

Mitsuya grabs a metal rod he keeps for emergencies and moves towards the door, his mind racing. As he steps outside, the harsh lights from flashlights blind him momentarily, and he’s confronted by a group of thugs. They sneer at him, clearly up to no good, but Mitsuya doesn’t back down.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Mitsuya says calmly, his grip tightening on the rod. “But if you try anything, you’re going to regret it.”

The thugs exchange glances, clearly not expecting resistance. Mitsuya takes a step forward, his stance unwavering. “Leave. Now.” His voice is cold, a stark contrast to his usual warmth.