Kyoto shoved the phone back in his pocket, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he walked towards his Civic. The fluorescent numbness was gone, replaced by the electric anticipation of Bianca's brand of beautiful wreckage. Worth every damn splinter. Again.
His phone buzzed again. Not Elara. Not Bianca. Jenny. The name flashed with a cheerful persistence that felt jarring against the rain-slicked asphalt and the phantom scent of Bianca's skin. He thumbed it open.
> Hey Kyoto! Just thinking… it's SO late! Did you eat? 😊 I know Giovanni's is your favorite (extra pepperoni, pineapple, jalapeños right? 😉) & they're open til 11! My treat?
Kyoto paused, hand on the Civic's cold door handle. Giovanni's. How the hell did she know that? He hadn't mentioned it. Not once. He pictured her: blonde ponytail bouncing, thick glasses magnifying earnest blue eyes, that impossible ass swaying as she fetched his coffee. His treat. Meaning she'd pay. Meaning she'd giggle. Nonstop. Through the greasy pizza, through the small talk, through the inevitable awkward silences she'd fill with breathless chatter. Then… afterwards. In her tidy little apartment, probably smelling like vanilla plug-ins and fabric softener. She'd smile the whole time during sex too. Wide, adoring smiles. Whispering how amazing he was. No biting, no scratches, no broken furniture. Just… nice. Safe. Predictable.
Kyoto snorted. Bitches have done worse. Lucia wouldn't stop screaming mid-thrust during that party fiasco. Anya once locked him naked on her balcony in February. Bianca actively tried to break his pelvis. Compared to that? Jenny's relentless sunshine and probable missionary enthusiasm was practically a spa day. Easy. Undemanding. A palate cleanser before Bianca detonated his apartment again tonight.
He tapped out a reply, fingers swift and decisive.
> Giovanni's. 10. Don't be late.
The reply was instant, radiating pure, unfiltered joy.
> YAY! 😍 See you there!
Kyoto slid into the Civic, the engine coughing to life. He pictured Jenny's flushed face across a pizza box, her eager eyes, the way her polyester slacks would hug that suburban peach of an ass as she slid into the booth. Then later, the soft give of her mattress, the vanilla scent clinging to her sheets, her breathless giggles as he took what was so obviously offered. He smirked, pulling out of the garage into the rainy dark. Pizza was just the appetizer. Jenny's eager warmth was the main course. Simple. Satisfying. And Bianca's chaos could wait a few hours. He had a different kind of hunger to sate first.
The rain hammered the Civic's roof, a relentless drumbeat against the windshield. Kyoto flicked the wipers to high, their frantic squeal barely cutting through the downpour. He merged onto the slick highway, tires hissing on wet asphalt. Giovanni's neon sign glowed faintly ahead through the murk – a beacon of greasy salvation and Jenny's sunshine smile. He accelerated, pushing the Civic past its comfort zone. A horn blared, harsh and monstrously loud, cutting through the rain's roar. Kyoto's head snapped left. Twin orbs of blinding light exploded out of the darkness, impossibly close, impossibly huge. A semi-truck, fishtailing wildly on the rain-slicked curve, its trailer swinging like a berserker's hammer directly towards his driver's side door.
Time fractured. Kyoto's hands moved before thought – a savage wrench of the wheel, foot slamming the brake pedal into the floorboards. The Civic screamed, tires locking, skidding sideways in a terrifying ballet of hydroplaning metal. The truck's horn became a deafening roar filling the universe, the grillwork filling his vision like the jaws of oblivion. Shit. Truck-kun. The absurd anime meme flashed through his adrenaline-scorched brain. Is this it? Isekai express? He braced for impact, a fleeting image of Bianca's furious face and Jenny's horrified eyes flashing behind his lids.
The Civic lurched violently, spinning away from the truck's deadly arc. Momentum carried him sideways, tires screeching, until the car slammed to a jarring halt with a crunch of gravel. Kyoto gasped, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He blinked, disoriented. The truck's horn faded into the rainy distance, leaving only the frantic slap of his own wipers and the ragged sound of his breathing. He wasn't roadkill. He was… parked. Askew, half on the curb, but parked. Directly in front of Giovanni's Pizza Parlor. Through the rain-streaked window, bathed in warm yellow light, sat Jenny. Her blonde ponytail was unmistakable. She was perched nervously in a booth, staring wide-eyed at a steaming pizza already laid out for two. Her gaze snapped to his Civic, frozen mid-skid, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
Kyoto slumped back against the headrest, trembling fingers gripping the steering wheel. The near-death adrenaline surged, sharp and electric. "Would I have gotten isekai'd?" The thought was ludicrous, yet strangely persistent. If that truck had connected… what world? Not some generic fantasy farm. Dragon Ball Z. Definitely. Instant Transmission, Kamehamehas, planets exploding under god-like fists. Screw Chi-Chi's nagging. Or maybe… One Piece? Endless ocean, Devil Fruits, Buggy the Clown's ridiculous nose. Freedom. Adventure. No Henderson spreadsheets. No Elara Vance. He chuckled, a shaky, adrenaline-fueled sound. Yeah. Either one beats fluorescent hell. He killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the drumming rain. Jenny was already scrambling out of the booth, rushing towards the door, her face etched with worry. Kyoto took a deep breath, smoothed his hair, and reached for the door handle. Pizza awaited. And Jenny's inevitable, breathless concern. A different kind of adventure. For now.
His phone buzzed violently against the passenger seat. Bianca's name flashed. He thumbed it open before stepping out.
> Your Place is boring AF. Mind if I invite Cora over? Single mom vibes but chill. We'll just watch trash TV & raid your fridge. Promise not to break anything major.
Kyoto paused, rain spattering the windshield. Cora? Bianca's friends were usually grenades disguised as people. Lucia filmed everything. Anya stole. This sounded… tame. Suspiciously tame. He tapped back fast.
> Pic first. No grenades.
The reply was instant. A single image loaded. Kyoto's breath hitched. Holy shit. Cora wasn't just "chill." She was a fucking masterpiece. Leaning against a sun-drenched kitchen counter, wearing faded jeans and a thin white tank top that clung like a prayer. Long, dark hair cascaded over one shoulder. Eyes like melted chocolate, warm and knowing. But the body… Christ. The jeans hugged curves that defied gravity – an ass so perfectly round and high it looked sculpted. And the tank top? It strained heroically over breasts that were full, heavy, and utterly mouthwatering. Single mom? Maybe. But she looked like she'd stepped out of a lingerie catalog crossed with a fertility goddess shrine. Bombshell didn't cover it. This was thermonuclear. Kyoto typed back, fingers trembling slightly.
> Door's unlocked. Fridge is yours. Break whatever.
He shoved the phone into his pocket, the image of Cora's impossible curves seared onto his retinas. Bianca's chaos suddenly had competition. He took a deep breath, forcing Bianca and Cora and the promise of that tank top out of his mind. Focus. Jenny. Pizza. Easy prey.
The bell above Giovanni's door jingled as he pushed inside. Warmth, the rich scent of garlic and baking dough, and the low hum of classic rock washed over him. Jenny sprang up from the booth near the window like a jack-in-the-box, her face a picture of wide-eyed alarm. "Kyoto! Oh my gosh!" she gasped, rushing towards him, hands fluttering nervously. "That skid! Are you okay? That truck! I saw the whole thing!" Her blonde ponytail bounced with every anxious step. Her glasses magnified her blue eyes, filled with genuine, fluttery concern. She wore a soft pink sweater and sensible slacks that somehow still managed to hint at the lush curve of her hips. Safe. Soft. Radiating wholesome worry.
Kyoto shrugged, aiming for nonchalant cool despite the lingering adrenaline jitter in his hands. "Just keeping things interesting," he drawled, sliding into the booth opposite her. The large pepperoni, pineapple, and jalapeño pizza sat steaming between them, exactly as he liked it. Jenny hovered, fussing. "Seriously! You could have been killed! Should we call someone? Do you need water?" She was practically vibrating with anxious energy. Kyoto grabbed a slice, the cheese stretching satisfyingly. "Relax, Jenny. Alive. Hungry." He took a huge bite, the spicy-sweet heat exploding on his tongue. "Perfect."
Jenny finally sank back into her seat, watching him eat with rapt attention, a small, relieved smile playing on her lips. "Okay, good," she breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were flushed pink. "I was just… so worried." She picked at the edge of the pizza box, her gaze flicking up to meet his, then quickly away. Shy. Eager. Utterly transparent. Kyoto took another bite, studying her over the cheesy triangle. Sunshine and vanilla. Simple. Uncomplicated. His gaze drifted past her shoulder, through the rain-streaked window, towards the dark road leading back to his apartment. Back to Bianca. Back to Cora. Back to the beautiful, inevitable wreckage waiting in the warm, unlocked dark. He smirked, swallowing the hot, greasy mouthful. Tonight was going to be very interesting.