he’s good in a brawl, always has been, but he’s at a couple pretty big disadvantages here, and it’s not long before a few of them start landing hits. except for within the first couple punches, light floods the alley. headlights? no, one headlight. a motorcycle. (funny, they hadn’t heard anyone approaching; had it been there all along?)

and astride it, someone in a leather jacket and a helmet. and… a scarf…? it’s kind of familiar, but Sano’s a little too dazed for that to mean anything to him. so unless Saito’s been keeping some pretty big secrets, which he has to admit isn’t impossible—

his attackers freeze uncertainly as the rider flips down the kickstand and walks toward them. Sano can tell just from his stride that he’s no stranger to combat, either, and so can his attackers, because they let go and scatter immediately. Sano staggers, more than a little disoriented, and leans against the nearest wall. that was closer than he’d like.

to his surprise, the rider doesn’t leave. he’s got such an air of mystery that Sano half expects him to take off right away and drive cryptically off into the distance, leaving him to wonder for all eternity who his rescuer was, but no. instead, he approaches to help him to his feet. but then he takes off his helmet to speak, and even before he sees that curly hair, Sano recognizes that devilish grin.

…fuck.

of all the people in the world, why did his savior have to be Shiranui? he knows how those ‘demons’ work; now he’s going to think he owes him. it would’ve been better in the long run just to let himself get beaten up, and he knows Shiranui can tell that’s what he’s thinking, because he laughs.

“didn’t figure you for a damsel in distress,” he says, letting go and stepping back even before Sano tries to swat his hands away. “but then, I’m not much of a hero, so it all works out.” he looks Sano up and down, eyes lingering on a couple new bruises. “I guess even the Wolves of Mibu have their off days, huh?”

“yeah,” says Sano, teeth grit, and forcibly unclenches his fists. he can’t tell what it is he’s feeling so intensely, but a lot of it is embarrassment at being caught on the losing side. humble pie is an acquired taste, and he never got used to it. “thanks.”

“you could at least sound like you mean it,” remarks Shiranui, sounding not at all hurt, and turns away to saunter back to his motorcycle. “it’d be a shame for anyone to muss up a face like that. but you’re welcome.” his sharp smile disappears under his helmet. “see you around, Harada,” he adds, his voice a little muffled, as he straddles his motorcycle. “don’t make me save you again, now, or I’ll start thinking you like it.”