Land of River.
Blackpool Town.
Once lively and full of life, Blackpool had grown quieter with each passing year.
Roads, railways, and rerouted rivers drained away its people and purpose.
Still, some stayed.
It was almost noon.
The sun blazed overhead.
The town's main road lay nearly empty. Most folks had taken shelter indoors, napping or hiding in what little shade they could find.
The heat was relentless.
No one had the energy to shop, wander, or talk.
Then—
Wooo wooo wooo.
The sound of a motorcycle engine tore through the silence like a kunai through paper.
Heads popped out of old wooden homes lining the road.
One of the two big families in town—the Hyoba Clan—ran brothels and smuggled goods.
From one of their second-floor balconies, Hyoba Yoichiro, squinted into the sun.
"Look! That's a motorcycle! A real one!" he said, excitement lighting up his face.
His gang of thugs crowded around, wide-eyed.
"Told you these things are popular outside," Yoichiro said with a smug grin. "I've wanted one forever."
In rural places like this, motorcycles and off-road vehicles were gold. Fast, tough, flashy.
Yoichiro's little brother Nakatani muttered, "Why don't we just take it?"
Yoichiro frowned, lowering his cup. "Idiot. What if it's someone from the Sixth Division? What if it's... a Kamen Rider?"
Everyone fell silent.
Lately, tales had spread through the Land of Rivers—of masked riders on sleek bikes, mysterious heroes who appeared out of nowhere to crush evil.
Some said they could transform into bizarre forms, powerful or equal to jonin in strength.
Tanaka, another one of their boys, scoffed. "Doesn't look like a hero to me."
The rider was young.
Wearing shaded goggles that made him look like some lazy ANBU dropout.
Black shirt, sleeves rolled, clothes loose and sloppy. A sash tied half-heartedly at his waist.
He didn't walk—he sauntered.
"Probably some rich kid slumming it," Tanaka sneered.
Yoichiro watched the rider cruise by. "Just wait and see. Half the town's ours. If he's soft, he's ours too."
He turned to his men. "Keep an eye on him. If he's a loser... we'll roast him."
That motorcycle, though...
Damn, it was beautiful.
The rider rolled up to a rundown tavern and parked.
He stepped inside.
Inside, the tavern was empty. Dusty beams, cracked floorboards. Only the barkeep remained—old Joshiro.
"Welcome, traveler. Sit where you like," the old man said.
The rider didn't mind the filth. He slid onto a barstool.
"Hey, Pops. Got any wine?"
Joshiro poured him a jug. The rider filled a cup and downed it.
"Not bad. Didn't expect decent stuff in a place like this," he said, licking his lips. "Got anything to eat?"
Joshiro nodded and shuffled to the back.
Soon, a plate of side dishes landed on the counter.
Joshiro eyed the young man.
"So, what brings you to the small town of Blackpool?"
The rider chuckled.
"Owed someone money. Thought I'd skip town and earn some coin somewhere quieter."
Joshiro smirked. "You're running from more than debt, I bet. Got that look."
The rider grinned, sipping more wine.
Joshiro leaned in. "If it's money you're after, might wanna turn around. Blackpool's dry."
"Oh?" the rider raised an eyebrow.
Joshiro pointed outside. "See that dirt road out there? Left side belongs to the Nakatani Clan. Right side, Hyoba Clan. Two clans, always fighting. No room for outsiders."
"Lemme guess," the rider said. "They hate each other."
"Like oil and water," Joshiro muttered.
The rider leaned back. "That means opportunity. They can't kill each other, right? So they'll want help. Someone skilled."
He tapped his chest. "That's me."
Joshiro sighed. Another cocky fool.
"You're a kind man, old-timer," the rider said. "Think you could hook me up with one of the families?"
Joshiro shook his head fast. "No way. I keep my nose clean. Best advice? Run."
Their talk was interrupted—
WOOOP!
A siren wailed from outside.
The rider bolted out the door.
Three greasy punks surrounded his motorcycle.
The bike shrieked suddenly—like a beast warning intruders.
The punks flinched.
They were Nakatani's goons, sent to test him.
One pulled a knife.
"Back off, kid."
The rider cracked his neck, smiling lazily.
"Touch my bike, and you're dead."
He moved fast—drawn pistol in one smooth motion.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Three shots.
Three wrists hit.
Each punk dropped his weapon, howling.
They scattered, clutching their arms, retreating to the shadows.
The sound echoed through Blackpool like a boss battle starting.
Doors slammed. Curtains closed.
Yoichiro and Nakatani Yu both heard the shots.
Both stood from their windows.
"That aim... who is this guy?"
Yoichiro muttered one name, half-shocked, half-furious:
"Name's Jin. A Kamen Rider."
...
One mountain can't hold two tigers—unless one's male and one's female.
And clearly, neither Hyoba Yoichiro nor Nakatani Yu had any plans of switching teams or playing nice. This wasn't some twisted Romeo and Juliet situation.
In Blackpool Town, where two big gangs ruled the streets, there was no room for romance—just revenge.
The Hyoba Clan and Nakatani Clan spent every day plotting how to destroy each other, take over the town, and finally be the one true kingpin.
But the problem? They were perfectly matched. No one had the upper hand.
Years of turf wars and bloodshed changed nothing.
The town center avenue still sliced their territories clean down the middle.
One ruled the east, the other ruled the west. And that invisible line hadn't shifted in over a decade.
Both sides hated it.
Every week they came up with new ways to build themselves up while tearing the other down.
Recently, Yu had brought in a mysterious wandering ninja.
That tipped the scales slightly in his favor.
But then Jin showed up.
After schooling three of Hyoba's punks with nothing but a pistol and a smirk, Jin casually spun his gun, blew away the muzzle smoke, and holstered it beneath his untucked shirt.
His belt, with holster and all, looked straight out of a bounty hunter's playbook.
He threw a smug glance toward the peeping faces behind the brothel fence and walked back into the tavern like nothing had happened.
Inside, Joshiro peeked through the curtain, pale with nerves.
"You should go, guest," he whispered. "You just laid out Hyoba's boys. He won't let that slide."
Jin waved him off, grinning.
"Old man, relax. I've got this."
He tapped the holster at his waist.
Before Joshiro could argue, someone pushed through the curtain.
The sound of wooden clogs thumped on the floor as a man entered—half-asleep, wearing a loose gray kimono, and smiling like he hadn't a care in the world.
Joshiro immediately recognized him.
"Ah, Mr. Byakuya Kuchiki. The usual?"
"Yeah," Kuchiki said with a chuckle. "One jug of wine, two grilled fish, pickled cabbage, and cucumber. You know me."
The place wasn't big.
With Jin already at the bar, the new guest just plopped down beside him.
They exchanged a look. Kuchiki grinned.
"Your shooting just now was clean. I mean real clean. Can I see that gun of yours?"
Jin's smile faded, eyes narrowing.
Kuchiki raised both hands in peace. "Alright, alright. No need to get grumpy. Forget I asked."
"What's your name, traveler? Where're you from? What brings you here?"
Jin blinked. "Shouldn't you introduce yourself first if you're gonna ask so many questions?"
Kuchiki laughed. "Fair enough."
Joshiro returned, sliding over their food and drinks. Kuchiki filled Jin's cup.
"Let me buy you a drink. That was some solid work back there. I'm curious about you."
He downed his sake.
Jin watched him, then drank too.
Kuchiki leaned back, eyes a little distant.
"Truth is, I don't know how I got here. Not really. I just… showed up in this world. No memories. Nothing before this."
Jin raised an eyebrow. "You serious? You just spawned?"
"Not joking. One day I woke up and boom—this is where I was. No past, no name even, till someone called me Kuchiki."
Jin squinted. This guy's either messed up or hiding something.
"So what brought you here then?"
Kuchiki tapped his temple.
"There's a voice in my head. Keeps telling me to find someone. Keeps nagging me. So I walked. And walked. And ended up here."
He sipped again.
"Then I decided I like it here. The voice can wait."
Jin tilted his head, analyzing Kuchiki. As a Kamen Rider—no, more than that, as someone with a built-in radar for danger—he'd trained in microexpressions, deception detection, the whole psychological package.
This guy… he wasn't lying. Probably.
Human experimentation? Genjutsu gone wrong? Amnesia from some weird relic? Hard to tell.
"So what do you do in town? You can't just drift in without catching attention. This town's a powder keg."
Kuchiki shrugged. "The Nakatanis gives me food, a place to sleep, and some cash. Says I'm a good investment. So I hang around. Fish. Nap. Drink under trees. Not a bad life."
Jin's mind raced. This dude was the ninja the Nakatani brought in. No doubt.
"You a shinobi?" he asked, more direct now.
Kuchiki scratched his head. "Honestly? I don't know. But I can do stuff. Weird stuff. Wanna see?"
He placed his palm on the old wooden table.
Before Jin could react, the wood started sprouting. Fresh green shoots cracked through the surface.
Branches stretched out from the edges. Flowers bloomed. The table transformed into a living, breathing sculpture.
It was beautiful.
Jin's eyes widened.
Wood Release?!
Only a few in the world had that kind of chakra. That kind of power.
Who is this guy? Where did he come from?
And more importantly—
Who exactly is he supposed to find?
_______________________________
Word count: 1600
Comment below on what you think so far.
Also, if you're interested in reading some advanced chapters, you can support me on my patreon.
patreon.com/Rai_jin
Thanks for reading guys.