Kanno Hinata

Framed by glass shards and dust, the girl’s black, wavy hair tumbled wildly around her face, shimmering in the sunlight. Her fierce blue eyes blazed.

A breath later, pursuers sprang from the broken glass pane like wild dogs out for blood.

The first man lunged at her, his fist shooting like a bullet. Her knuckle cracked him in the jaw before he could land.

Another grabbed from behind—but caught a fist to the throat, a knee to the stomach, and a face full of pavement.

Her style was raw, efficient, and fluid—no flashy moves, no wasted effort. Every strike delivered to a vital weak point.

But for every one that dropped, two more rushed in.

Her muscles tightened with each passing second. Heat surged in her veins, fueling her every move, but she knew she wouldn’t last much longer.

After a quick scan, there—a side alley, narrow but open.

With a grunt, her legs powered forward. Her breath was ragged, her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to keep moving.

She weaved between startled pedestrians, vaulted over walls, and skidded around corners—nimble as a leopard. Still, the sound of footsteps behind her grew louder, closer.

Unfamiliar streets betrayed her. Each turn was a dead end she hadn’t accounted for. Panic started clawing at her chest, but sheer will pushed through.

Then—a cul-de-sac. Cracked concrete walls loomed over her. Exits were sealed. A ring of shadows surrounded her.

The smirk that tugged at her lips was one of deadly amusement. She clenched her fists. If this were the end, she’d leave them too shell-shocked to talk.

A finger snap hushed the noise.

A figure towered above the mob—a pristine suit, calm posture, radiating control. The man talked business over the phone.

“Yes, sir. We got her.”

A gravelly voice came from the phone. “Take her alive. At all costs.”

“Got it,” the Agent said smoothly, slipping the phone back into his pocket. His gaze turned to her as he fixed his coat.

“It’s a shame that you went this far. They worshipped you down there,” he said, oddly casual.

She spat to the side.

He chuckled. “You think this place fits you? It doesn’t. It’ll spit you out.”

Her fists curled white. No words, but her eyes flared.

He clicked his tongue and clapped. “That’s it. That fire. Everyone loved that."

"But you’ll come crawling back to the only place that thinks you’re worth anything.”

That was the ultimatum. Her reply: a silent hand raised—

“Bring it.”

The Agent sighed, a trace of regret in his voice, as he adjusted his tie and raised a hand to signal capture.

Then, a monstrous roar echoed. Before anyone could react, bodies were hurled into the air, crashing against walls and littering the ground.

A motorcycle revved, its headlight glinting hellfire. The rider’s silhouette was fused with reckless abandon, mowing into the mob like an enraged bull.

The Agent observed the vehicle’s murderous, almost suicidal charge and casually stepped out of its way.

The faceless biker carved a path, extending a gloved hand toward the astounded fighter.

“Get on! Now!"

Her eyes narrowed at the outstretched hand. Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. But his hand remained, melting her hesitation.

“We don’t have time! COME ON!”

With a curse under her breath, she grabbed the rider's hand and swung herself onto the seat, just as the engine roared back to life.

The motorcycle swerved, cutting a sharp arc before surging towards the Agent. His trench coat billowed in the gust as it raced past.

Then, a faint beep interrupted him. He pulled out a small device, displaying coordinates on the screen.

— • —

The motorbike dashed, weaving between cars at breakneck speed. The world blurred in a streak of shadows and lights.

For a moment, the girl found herself lost in the thrill of the ride. The wind whipped against her face, cold and sharp, but liberating—a welcome rush that made her forget the pounding footsteps and cold glares chasing her.

Something pinched at her collar. Her fingers flew to her neck, brushing against a tiny, cold button that lodged beneath her jaw.

With a scoff, she tore the device off and hurled it away without care.

On the Agent’s screen, the signal froze. His lips curled into an amused smirk.

Turning, he tugged on his coat, his voice unruffled, confident.

“Pull back. We lost her.”

— • —

The motorcycle rushed through the urban sprawl, as worn-down buildings and a long bridge soon became quiet streets and rows of sleepy houses.

For the first time in ages, calm rose in her chest. As the wind eased, her breath followed. The rider remained steady, guiding the bike deep into the quiet neighborhood.

Finally, they slowed as they approached a modest, well-kept apartment building. The rider turned into a narrow driveway, leading to a basement garage. The sound of the engine faded until it became an eerie silence.

The girl's legs wobbled slightly as she got off the bike, but her stance remained firm, her eyes sharp.

“You okay?” the rider asked.

The rider removed his helmet. For a moment, Crow looked like a knight in shining armor who galloped into a place where he didn't belong.

Or maybe, she wandered into his little paradise.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, widening in surprise and suspicion.

And Crow?

Poor and hopeless Crow’s chest had been hammering wildly. His mundane afternoon suddenly burst like fireworks lit up by a ridiculous accident.

He glanced at her hair. Her eyes.

A surreal picture that felt like a fever dream his sleep-deprived brain would conjure. And in that utterly absurd moment, he let the dream linger.

Crow smiled and spoke—stupidly aware none of this was real. Or... was he?

“Kanno Hinata,” he whispered like a fool in a trance. “Will you marry me?”

And then, silence.

She blinked. Once. Slowly.

Crow stared into the abyss.

“Oh, sh—"