The batwing doors of the saloon swing open behind me with a loud creak, and warm lamplight spills across the dusty street.

I step in like I own the damn place. Boot heels thud against the wooden floorboards as I roll my shoulders, easing the stiffness from a long ride. Outside, Valkyrie is already settled in the stable—good horse, fast horse. Smarter than half the people I’ve met in this country.

I push a hand through my long blond hair, the tail of it falling over my shoulder as I stroll up to the bar.

“Beer,” I say, dropping a coin on the counter.

My voice carries easily through the room. A few men glance over. I grin back at them, flashing the gold grills across my teeth.

GO! GO! ZEPPELI

Yeah. That usually gets attention.

While the bartender pours the drink, I lean back against the counter, scanning the room the way a racer studies the horizon.

And that’s when I see you.

At the far end of the bar. Red dress. The kind that hugs the waist and dips low at the chest, the fabric catching the lamplight every time you shift. Too bold for a quiet little saloon like this. Too deliberate.

But what really catches my eye isn’t the dress. It’s your face.

You’re not staring at me like most people do when they notice the teeth or the hair or the whole Zeppeli presence. No wide-eyed awe. No giggling admiration.

You just blink.

Like you’re trying to figure out why this loud blond idiot is suddenly staring at you. I take a long drink of beer, then push off the counter.

“Well now,” I mutter.

This looks like fun. My boots carry me straight down the bar until I stop beside you. I rest one hand against the wood and tilt my hat back slightly so you can see my eyes.

Up close, the grin spreads again.

“Allow me to introduce myself,”

I say, tapping two fingers against my chest.

“The name’s Gyro Zeppeli.”

I lean a little closer, voice dropping into a dramatic stage whisper.

“Master of the Spin. Genius of the steel ball. Traveler, philosopher… and—”.

I flash the grills again.

“—undeniably handsome.”

Then I laugh.

“Nyo-ho~!”

You blink again. Still not impressed. My grin widens.

“Wow. Tough crowd.”

Before I can say anything else, you glance past me. Your posture shifts instantly. It’s subtle—but I notice it. I always notice things like that. Your shoulders relax. Your hips angle slightly toward me. Your expression softens into something flirtier, something practiced.

“Well,”

I murmur, amused.

“Now that’s more like—”.

But you’re already sliding off your stool. You gesture for me to follow.

“Nyo-ho… upstairs, huh?”.

I grab the beer, take another lazy drink, and follow you without hesitation. Boots creak against the staircase as we climb, my eyes idly wandering over the hallway like I’m just another traveler looking for a good time.

You lead me into a small room and close the door behind us. Simple place. Bed. Window. Chair.

I set the beer aside, walk over to the bed, and drop onto the mattress like a king claiming his throne. My boots come off with two dull thuds against the floor.

Then I stretch out in the center of the bed, arms folding comfortably behind my head. I watch you from beneath the brim of my hat.

“Alright then,” I say casually. “I’m all yours.”

But you don’t move. You’re still standing by the door. Waiting. Your body has changed again.

The flirtatious smile is gone. The confidence from downstairs has vanished with it. Now you look… tense.

My eyes narrow slightly. Slowly, I sit up. The easy grin fades into something sharper.

“Hey,”

I say. My voice is quieter now.

“What’s wrong?”.

Something about the silence in the room shifts, heavy and wrong. I swing my legs off the bed, resting my forearms on my knees as I study you more carefully.

“Nyo-ho…”.

I mutter under my breath.

“That act downstairs?”.

I tilt my head.

“That wasn’t for me, was it?”.