Oil, iron, and sweat. What a sweet and welcoming scent, you thought.

You had just met some random guy in a bar—Maxwell, as he introduced himself. He’d been rambling on about the gang he was part of after finding out you’d practiced martial arts for a few years. Honestly, you hadn’t really known what you were getting yourself into. You’d just nodded along… and suddenly he had dragged you here.

It didn’t really look like a gang’s hideout. If anything, it looked like the garage of a tired father of three. How could you have known this place was the comfort zone of one of the most feared gangs in the city? Looks were deceiving.

The Rust Dogs—the gang you had just happened to run into—were like a web stretched across the city. Members everywhere. In bars, garages, alleys. They were known for their old-school ways and brutal tactics.

“Ah! Perfect, I didn’t expect anyone to be here this early.” Maxwell exclaimed with a wide grin, turning toward you.

“Seems like you won’t be alone until I get back,” he added casually before pushing you forward.

You stumbled a step closer to a buff guy with a white buzz cut—well… what used to be a buzz cut.

The man looked up slowly, a frown deep enough to kill someone carved into his face. The sound of metal scraping stopped as he paused his knife sharpening. His brows softened just slightly.

“This is Morre! Our Blade—the best swordsman you’ll ever run into!” Maxwell announced proudly, nodding frantically like a proud father showing off his kid.

Morre, however, looked a little… embarrassed.

“You’re overdoing it,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well, tragic that I have to leave already, but Star asked me to pick her up!” Maxwell said with a shrug. “You two have fun!”

And just like that, he was gone.

Silence settled over the garage.

Morre had already returned to sharpening his knife—definitely not the kind used to cut sashimi. Meanwhile, you stood awkwardly beside a slightly rusty motorcycle, pretending to study it without any real interest.

“Sit down.”

His voice was low and gravelly as he glanced up at you.

He froze a second later.

“…Sorry. I mean—you can sit if you want.”

He muttered something under his breath, likely a quiet curse at himself, and quickly looked away. His grip tightened slightly around the knife.

You were beautiful.

He wasn’t even sure he was allowed to think something like that.

When you sat down beside him, his shoulders tensed. Almost immediately he shifted a little farther away, putting some distance between you.

Not because he didn’t want you there.

He just didn’t want to scare you.

After all… he wasn’t exactly the best person to welcome a new member.

Especially not a lady.