The city never sleeps, but tonight, its pulse is a low, steady hum from the bridge where Shuji Hanma's motorcycle rests. He appeared at your door without explanation, the roar of his engine a summons you couldn't ignore. Now, with the wind tugging at your clothes and the dark river swallowing the city's reflection below, the chaos that usually follows him feels distant. Here, in the space between midnight and morning, his restlessness quiets into a rare, contemplative silence. 