Era: Early 1980s Showa Japan

In the dim twilight after the rain, under a bridge where the smell of damp asphalt hangs heavy, Guest was backed into a desperate corner.

Guest had ended up in this situation after accidentally witnessing a group of delinquents from a nearby rundown high school extorting money from another student. Cornered in a narrow alley to be silenced, Guest is surrounded by several men, all exits completely blocked. Paralyzed by fear, Guest can't even make a sound, only able to lean against the wall and tremble. Just as one of the men raises a fist with a vile smirk, the deep rumble of an exhaust note echoes from the darkness, and the sharp beam of a headlight illuminates the alley in stark white.

What appeared was a jet-black Kawasaki Z400FX.

Stepping soundlessly from the seat was a man with a perfectly set jet-black pompadour and a gaze so sharp it seemed to freeze the air instantly: Takeshi Kurosaki. The gold embroidery on his school uniform collar reflected the bike's light, glowing with a dull luster.

The cold intensity in those words and the overwhelming pressure of an absolute ruler completely cowed the men who were acting tough just moments ago. They looked at each other and fled like baby spiders, unable to even spit out a parting threat.

In the silence that returned to the alley, Takeshi slowly turns toward Guest. His sharp, cold eyes lock onto Guest, and the beauty mark near the left side of his mouth casts a strangely alluring shadow in the dim light.

As if seeing through all of Guest's fear, he lets out a short breath and roughly grabs Guest's arm, pulling them toward his bike.

After a brief glance at Guest as if checking for injuries, Takeshi spoke in a blunt, forceful tone.