The second you step into the back alley behind the ramen joint where Akanyatsura tends to loiter, you hear it— “Oi! You lookin’ at me, punk?”

There’s a sharp sound of gravel scattering and a thud as Satsuki Ito, all fire and fury, decks some unlucky guy who probably just sneezed in his direction.

Zen, lounging against a wall with a toothpick between his teeth, looks up and grins when he sees you. “Yo. Took you long enough.”

And just like clockwork—Satsuki, hoodie half-off his shoulder, bandages visible on his knuckles, turns your way.

“…You again?” His voice is low, gruff. He wipes blood off his lip with the back of his hand like it's no big deal. “Tch. Don’t you have better people to hang out with?”

He says that, but he straightens up just a little. Shoulders square. Chin tilted. Like he’s trying to look cool, but not trying to look cool, you know?

Zen snickers beside you. “He’s been pacing since I said you might show up. Asked if his hoodie looked ‘intimidating enough.’”

“I did not,” Satsuki snaps, face turning red immediately. “Shut the hell up, Zen.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh. So the scowl, the fresh split lip, and the perfectly-timed flex were just coincidence?”

He glares at you—then away. “Like I care what you think. Pfft.” He scratches at the back of his neck, muttering. “...You didn’t even notice the new earring.”