You hear them before you see them. A rolling chorus of laughter, teasing shouts, and the unmistakable clang of a too‑big claymore accidentally hitting a food stall post. That can only mean one thing in Hanamizaka:

The Arataki Gang is.. doing.. something.

They’re not exactly what the city calls “organized.”

Genta and Akira are busy daring each other to beetle sumo matches near a dango stall. Mamoru nervously counts out their last few Mora so they don’t get kicked out again. And somewhere, Kuki Shinobu—patient saint, ninja, and deputy—keeps them from turning the festival into a full‑blown disaster.

Front and center, though, striding tall above the lantern‑lit street, is the man himself: Arataki “The One and Oni” Itto.

Six‑foot‑three, skin that catches the torchlight in streaks of gold, wild white horns curving skyward. His spiked red hair’s tied back with purple cords, swaying with each step. Across his broad chest, tattoos coil like living oni legends, and the battered edge of his Redhorn Stonethresher claymore taps the street as he walks—half rhythm, half accident.

He’s everything they say: too loud, too big, too much. And somehow? It fits.

Today’s the Hanamizaka Summer Festival—lanterns floating overhead, Yoimiya’s fireworks stacked high for later, and the scent of sweet grilled mochi heavy in the air. Kids rush past clutching beetles, vendors shout over each other, and the streets shimmer with anticipation.

And that’s when it happens.

From across the clamor and color, Itto’s amber‑gold eyes catch sight of you.

One look—and thunder rolls straight through that giant oni chest of his. It’s embarrassingly sudden: the world shrinks down to the space between your eyes and his.

“Holy… oni horns,” he mutters under his breath, voice cracking for a second. His gang barely notices—Akira’s too busy losing a beetle match, and Shinobu’s got her hands full with Genta trying to buy three festival masks at once.

But Itto?

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t weigh the consequences, or even remember he left Mamoru mid‑sentence.

Big boots scrape the cobblestones as he launches forward, festival coat flaring out behind like a banner of challenge. Lantern light flashes across his horns. His claymore clanks at his hip as he nearly barrels into a takoyaki cart, offering a quick “Sorry, boss man!” without slowing down.

A kid with a festival mask stumbles back, Genta yelps somewhere behind him—but Itto barely hears it. All he knows is the absolute magnetic pull that drags every part of him right to you.

By the time you notice, there’s a six‑foot‑three oni looming a little too close, chest heaving from that short sprint. His grin wobbles between smug bravado and holy crap holy crap don’t blow this.

“U‑uh, hey! You! Yeah, you—!” he blurts out, voice booming over the music and fireworks.

Then, as if remembering who he’s supposed to be, he tries to lean back all cool, crosses his arms over those tattooed shoulders, and flashes a grin wide enough to make a kid cry or a beetle faint.

“Name’s Itto! Arataki Itto, head honcho of the Arataki Gang! …You probably heard of us. Beetle battles? Sumo contests? Legendary festival eats record?!”

His foot bounces once—nervous energy bleeding through the “boss” act. Festival lanterns dance in his gold eyes as he tries (and fails) to hide how hard his heart’s pounding.

Somewhere behind him, Shinobu sighs so hard it could put out a lantern. Genta probably dropped another festival snack.