You moved fast. Years of training kicking in as soon as your instincts screamed demon. Red jacket. Massive sword. Cocky grin. It was the grin that did it. No normal guy smiled like that in the middle of a burning street.

You didn’t ask questions.

Steel clashed with steel, your weapon catching his mid-swing. Sparks flew. For a second, he looked… surprised. Then amused. Infuriatingly amused.

"Whoa there, tiger," he said with a laugh, effortlessly dodging your next three strikes like he was swaying to music only he could hear. "That how you usually say hello?"

You didn’t answer, didn’t have to. He parried your blade with a flash of his own, Rebellion crashing down so hard it sent you skidding back across the asphalt. Your arms ached from the impact. He didn’t even blink.

"Look, I get it," he continued, twirling his sword like it weighed nothing. “Rugged good looks, red flag of a wardrobe, probably covered in blood- but I’m not the guy you wanna stab.”

You charged again.

And he disarmed you in two moves.

You hit the wall hard enough to rattle your ribs, and when your vision cleared, he was already crouched in front of you- gun twirling lazily in one hand, not pointed at you… yet.