All across Tokyo—from the city center to the streets of Ikebukuro—chaos had erupted.
Normally, a bōsōzoku street race didn't really disturb ordinary citizens. Only the truly nasty ones ever picked fights with bystanders. For most people, the worst part was just the noise—engines roaring deep into the night.
But tonight was different.
Every street seemed to have a pack of bōsōzoku tearing through it. Motorcycles screamed past every corner.
People about to sleep pulled open their curtains; drunken patrons staggered out of izakayas to watch from the doorways.
Everywhere, people looked toward the roads— and what they saw made no sense.
The usual arrogant, swaggering bōsōzoku were no longer the hunters. They were the hunted.
They rode like madmen, fleeing through the city as though chased by something inhuman. They tore through street after street, startling pedestrians awake, leaving everyone wondering what in the world had happened.
But the few lucky enough to catch a clear view— saw the truth.
A man dressed head to toe in black, riding a battered motorcycle, was chasing them down one by one.
He would close the distance in an instant, kick his target's bike sideways, and send it skidding across the asphalt.
With a shriek of grinding metal, the bōsōzoku's bike would spin out, sliding a dozen meters before collapsing.
The man's own bike never wavered.
He sat straight-backed and calm, rolling up to the fallen rider. "W–Wait! Kiryu Dou—Kiryu-kun! Kiryu aniki!"
Dou Tang didn't even pause.
He stepped off his bike and punched the man square in the face, knocking him out cold.
Then he climbed back on, pulled a small knife he'd taken off some other fool— and scratched a mark into the side of his motorcycle.
Spectators nearby began to notice the right side of his bike was already covered in such marks—five to a group.
He'd already carved five groups.
Dou Tang glanced at his phone. It was nearly midnight.
Dozens of missed calls and messages filled the screen—most from Huaiyin and Kume Chinatsu.
The latest, however, was from Lu Zizhen.
He called Huaiyin first.
Inside a police car, Huaiyin's face lit up as she answered. She'd never truly worried that her brother might be in danger—but hearing his voice still made her heart ache with relief.
"Hello! Big brother!"
Dou Tang's low hum came through the line.
"I'm fine. Don't worry. Where are you right now?"
"I'm with Kume-senpai! Her father's the police officer who came to our house before—we're in his patrol car right now! It's really safe!"
Dou Tang nodded.
"Good. Stay put. Once I'm done here, I'll come get you. Oh, and you should know—"
Huaiyin immediately understood. He meant don't talk about this.
She didn't believe any of those bōsōzoku could possibly harm him—if anything, her brother was probably the one doing the beating right now.
She nodded quickly and said aloud,
"Got it! As long as you're safe, big brother!" Dou Tang chuckled softly.
Sometimes, his little sister really was the most thoughtful person in the world.
"Alright. Stay safe. I'll contact you soon." "Mm… take care, big brother."
He hung up.
The moment the line went dead, he restarted his bike. The engine rumbled beneath him, low and steady, like a heartbeat.
As he listened to the distant growl of other engines, he made another call— this time, to Lu Zizhen.
The call connected instantly. The faint rush of wind filled his ear—and beneath it, the unmistakable growl of another engine.
"You're… riding?" he asked.
On an overpass several kilometers away, a crimson motorcycle sped through the night.
"Mm-hmm~ I'm out riding through Mount Akina~" Lu Zizhen's voice came lilting, teasing. "You didn't pick up when I called earlier."
Dou Tang rode up a steep hill, scanning the cityscape for any sign of the fleeing bōsōzoku in their white tokkōfuku coats. For a moment, he glimpsed a red streak racing across a distant overpass—but it was too far to recognize.
"I was busy," he said flatly. "A gang called Onigashima came after me. I'm… dealing with them."
Lu Zizhen's laugh rang through the line—bright, wild, and feral. "Finally!"
Dou Tang frowned as he rolled down the hill into the maze of city lights. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Lu Zizhen twisted her throttle, her bike howling louder. From the bridge, she could see the chaos below—bōsōzoku scattering like frightened insects. And for the first time in half a year—she felt alive.
"You're finally attacking ordinary people," she said softly, her voice darkly tender—like a love confession whispered through a blade's edge.
Dou Tang caught up to another biker ahead. The man glanced back—eyes wide with pure, animal terror.
"You're happy that I'm attacking ordinary people?" Dou Tang asked, riding alongside him.
Then he kicked the man's bike out from under him. The crash echoed through the call.
"Of course!" Lu Zizhen laughed. "When you attack ordinary people, it means you finally care about the world of ordinary people again!"
Her voice rose, ecstatic and trembling.
"Tell me—doesn't it feel good? Crushing them with your power, trampling them beneath you? Isn't it… exhilarating?"
"That sounds psychotic," Dou Tang replied coldly.
He stepped off the bike, crouched beside the groaning rider, and spoke into the phone. Then he raised his fist—
Boom.
A single punch ended the man's noise. Dou Tang exhaled slowly.
"Power might give a sense of superiority," he said quietly. "But that has nothing to do with me."
"I've outgrown that kind of posturing, Lu Zizhen." Had he looked up right then, he might've frozen.
Because not far away, high above on the overpass, stood a figure in a demon-faced helmet, staring down at him.
Even through the mask, her gaze burned like fire.
"I see…" came Lu Zizhen's voice, faint and wistful now. "Then… can you save me?" Dou Tang frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"No, it's nothing. Hahaha… go on, finish your hunt. I have something else to take care of."
Without another word, she hung up.
Dou Tang stared at the phone for a long second, confused. "Weird woman," he muttered.
Sliding it back into his pocket, he mounted his bike again.
Then—from somewhere far off—came another engine's deep, uneven snarl. He looked up, frowning.
It came from the overpass. There was something strange about that sound—restless, furious.
After so long dealing with spirits and cursed things, Dou Tang's senses had sharpened beyond human.
He could feel emotion through the tone of a voice, through movement— even through the rhythm of an engine.
And that sound— it wasn't roaring.
It was screaming.
Like a soul trapped in its own agony, begging to be saved.
Dou Tang twisted his throttle. Tires shrieked against the asphalt as he shot off into the night— leaving behind only stunned stares,
and the echo of his engine howling through the city of ghosts and machines.
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