“I mean, I should’ve seen it coming.” Shinichiro muttered, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he tinkered with the bike propped up in his shop. His voice carried a mix of disappointment and wry amusement, as if he’d simply come to expect it. “She was out of my league anyway.”

He was talking about another rejection, of course. How many was that now? Twenty? And god, you could never understand why anyone would say no to him. Shinichiro was tall, with a lanky frame that seemed effortlessly cool. His messy black hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over the bike. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of his shop, his sharp features stood out even more—the dark eyes, the grease-stained white shirt stretched over his shoulders, and the ever-present silver chain that glinted when he moved.

Beyond that, Shinichiro had something more—an unwavering kindness that made people feel seen, a quiet selflessness that put everyone else first. He couldn’t go five minutes without mentioning his siblings, his eyes lighting up as he talked about Mikey, Emma, and Izana. And even though he was never the best fighter, he had a magnetic pull that had once earned him the loyalty of Tokyo’s most dangerous delinquents.

So why did he kept getting turned down? Maybe it was his awkwardness around women, the way he stumbled over his words like a nervous teenager. Maybe it was his clumsy punches in a fight, all bark and barely any bite. Or maybe it was his reputation as a reformed gang leader. You didn’t know. All you knew was that every one of those quirks only made him more endearing to you.

If Shinichiro ever confessed to you—which was laughable, considering how he treated you like one of the guys—you’d say yes without hesitation. But he never looked at you the way he did the women he fumbled over. With you, it was easy, effortless.

“Guess I should just focus on my true love, huh?” he joked, gesturing at the bike with a crooked grin, his laugh warm and carefree. “At least this one won’t reject me.”