Kyousuke whipped his head around at the voice.
For a second, confusion flickered in his eyes—then turned into delight.
A motorcycle blacker than midnight stood before him, every inch of it exuding a sharp, chanical allure.
Straddling it casually was a stunning woman in a black leather bodysuit.
Her long, shapely legs, wrapped in tight leather pants, touched the ground with effortless grace—toned, smooth, perfect.
You couldn't help but envy the bike beneath her, maybe even wish you were it.
His eyes followed those srizing legs upward.
The snug pants perfectly hugged the curves of her hips—round and perky, like ripe peaches.
Her waist, narrow and supple, hinted at faintly visible abs, and the striking contrast between her slim torso and full hips made her figure feel like a rollercoaster of temptation.
You'd want to grab that waist and never let go.
The zipper on her upper body suit was pulled down to her chest, as if forced open by the generous swell of her breasts.
Her long neck and ample cleavage peeked through—snowy white skin laid bare beneath the streetlights.
Though her face was hidden beneath a yellow cat-eared helt, there was no question—this was the kind of woman who made mouths dry and thoughts drift straight to the bedroom.
But Hojou Kyousuke wasn't just any man.
His conscience had been through far worse temptations.
His gaze only lingered for 0.1 seconds before clearing.
Unlike those other guys who hovered around Celty like starved wolves, drooling from a distance, he had actually held her waist with his own hands.
He knew how her body felt in motion, the tightness of her abs, the softness of her curves.
Seriously—motorcycles were the best.
"Celty?" he called out, surprised and delighted.
"What? Don't tell you've forgotten , Hojou," ca her playful reply.
The leather-clad woman gracefully swung her leg off the bike, her tone brimming with amusent as she strutted toward him with feline grace.
"As if! I recognized your voice right away!" Hojou shot back.
Not only was he the first person in the world to hear her speak, he was the one who had taught her how.
If not her teacher, he was at least her... voice dad?
As he looked at the cute cat-ear helt and that lithe, swaying walk, Kyousuke couldn't help but think of Yukinoshita.
If he sent her a photo of Celty right now, she'd probably co running without hesitation.
"Heh, I knew you were here the mont you entered the mountain road," Celty said, now standing before him with one hand resting lightly on the fuel tank of his Rocket 33.
He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her joy radiating.
Not just because black smoke had started puffing out from the seams of her helt, but because her signature chocolatey scent now filled his nose.
"I waited forever up here. You were so slow, I almost ca down to get you myself," she teased, extending a gloved hand toward him.
The glove silently vanished, revealing a pale, delicate hand beneath.
"C'mon, don't treat like a kid. I may ride slow, but I can get off a bike just fine," Kyousuke grumbled—though he still took her hand and let her help him down.
"You haven't changed one bit. The boss of a biker gang—still scared to death of crashing," Celty giggled fondly.
She rembered how tightly he'd clung to her waist back then—his arms practically trying to break her in half, his body plastered to hers like he wanted to rge into her.
"Can you bla ? If you fly off a mountain like this, even I can't guarantee I'll survive," he said with a smile, still holding her hand.
Then, a sudden realization hit him: If climbing up was that scary… how terrifying would the ride down be?
Yikes. Just the thought made his legs go weak. No way he could ride again tonight.
"It's really good to see you again, Celty," he said, gazing at her—well, her waist.
As long as he could hold onto that, it felt like he could face any road, no matter how rough. After all… she was Celty.
"Hm?" Celty tilted her head, then burst into a bubbly, contagious laugh that echoed from every direction—360 degrees of delight.
Her body shook with joy, even if her face remained hidden.
"Let guess… you want to take you back down the mountain, don't you?"
"Haha, you got !" Kyousuke laughed too, the clear mountain air and the warmth of reunion filling him with happiness.
"No problem. If you've got the ti, we can ride all night," she said, lowering her head slightly as if finally noticing that she was still holding his hand.
But instead of pulling away, she tightened her grip and pulled him into her arms.
"It's been so long…"
Her voice trembled with emotion.
A mont ago, she teased that he clung to her like glue—but now it was clear she wanted to lt him into her.
Hojou's hands had been awkwardly raised at first, unsure.
But as her feelings reached him, his expression softened, and he slowly brought his arms around her, holding her gently.
"Yeah… it really has been."
"I know it's only been a few years, but it feels like forever," she murmured, tilting her helted head up.
Reflected in the visor was Kyousuke's face—and the glowing roadlight behind him.
"Maybe ti feels slower when the mories matter more."
Hojou knew exactly what she ant.
For a woman like Celty—eternally youthful, tiless in her own way—most years probably passed like monts.
But now, things felt… different.
"Is that it?" Celty muttered, stepping back slightly.
"I was wondering if it's just because I don't have a head… Maybe I store my mories in my body instead of my brain, and… I dunno, my mory's running low?"
She looked puzzled.
"Hahahaha, what are you talking about? If anything, your body's way bigger than your head!" Kyousuke laughed, exasperated.
This silly woman—any ti sothing weird happened, she blad it on her missing head.
Can't handle emotions? Must be because she had no head.
Got tricked by soone? Probably lost her intelligence along with it.
Didn't feel hungry? Must be a side effect of being headless.
Her bad cooking? Because she doesn't have a head.
Why she's considered an urban legend? No head.
Why she's scared of traffic cops? Also, no head.
Why she can't handle horror stories? You guessed it—no head.
Why she doesn't have a head? …because she doesn't have a head.
It was like her missing head was the root of the universe, the answer to all life's mysteries.
Every problem in her life seed to boil down to that one thing.
Honestly, she sounded like a total airhead sotis.
But in a strange way, it made her the simplest, most straightforward person in the world.
"That's not true at all! I know for a fact that mories are stored in the brain!" Celty raised her little fist like a proud student showing off in class.
Declaring herself a certified Brain Facts Master.
"Well yeah, normally we perceive the world and process info with our brains," Kyousuke began, patient as ever, "but in your case, you're using that black mist instead, right? So if you process things with it, then it makes sense you'd store mories there too.
The mist in your head's probably way less than what's in your body, so mory has nothing to do with your head.
Honestly, ti only feels slower to you now because you actually enjoy your life—that's all it is."
"…Mmm…" Celty tilted her helt down, clearly thinking hard.
"Nope, nope! Even if that made a lot of sense, I refuse to believe it's not related to my head! My head's essential!"
She admitted Kyousuke had a point, but she was still stubbornly loyal to her missing noggin.
She shook her helt like a bobblehead—if it weren't held on by mist, it probably would've flown off.
"Hahaha, I kinda agree, actually," Kyousuke chuckled. "I an, without a head, there's just a lot of stuff you really can't do."
He reached out and lightly patted the cat ears on her helt.
Including the headgear, Celty stood at around 174cm—easily the tallest girl Kyousuke knew.
She also had the longest legs and, well, the most impressive bust.
As for the slimst waist? That award still went to Eriri.
Yukinoshita might've weighed less overall, but Eriri was the most petite by far.
"Exactly!" Celty said cheerfully.
"By the way, when did you even get back to Japan? Why didn't you co find ?"
Finally snapping out of the excitent of their reunion, Kyousuke rembered to ask the obvious question.
"I just got in yesterday. I was actually planning to find you tomorrow…"
"Hey, you punk! You show up and just start babbling non-stop. How about greeting your seniors first, huh?"
A gruff voice cut off Celty mid-sentence.
"Yeah, you took forever just to get up the mountain. You ever think riding that slow sses it up for everyone else? We all had to crawl behind you—how inconsiderate."
"If you can't ride, stay outta Gunma. Total embarrassnt."
"Bet he just begged Mommy and Daddy for a motorcycle and thought that made him hot shit. Idiot doesn't know what he's doing, coming to our turf."
The pack of rowdy guys that had been drooling over Celty earlier weren't taking it well.
The hot biker chick had suddenly ditched them to talk to this random kid, and they were not happy.
This was Mount Haruna, their stomping grounds in Gunma.
Who the hell was this guy?
Sure, maybe he knew the girl.
Maybe they even had history. But that didn't matter.
They were talking to her first. It didn't sit right.
There were rules here, dammit! If outsiders didn't respect them, then what was the point of all their years protecting this mountain pass?
Haruna's fa wasn't built on so old ani—it was guys like them, the real street racers of Gunma, who gave it its rep.
And now this slick pretty boy just shows up and steals the show?
They'd planned to take the gorgeous biker babe for a ride—maybe even out for drinks later, and then... who knows? But now she was about to leave with him? Unacceptable.
If the guy had skills—like rotary-engine roars up the hill or insane gutter-drifting on the descent—they'd maybe let it slide.
But this dude had climbed the mountain at a snail's pace. And now he was gonna ride off into the night with the hottest woman any of them had ever seen?
Not on their watch.
"Hey, Shintarou, chill. Don't pick on a kid," a woman in a red jacket muttered from their group.
"Stay out of this, woman. This is between n," snapped Shintarou—the guy who'd first started yelling.
Sure, his ex wasn't bad-looking, but she didn't even compare to this leather-clad goddess.
He hadn't seen her face, but with that body? The face didn't even matter anymore.
Besides, his gut told him—anyone with a figure like that had to have a knockout face to match.
"C'mon, let's just go grab a late-night bite," another woman with a lip piercing said.
Street racing in Gunma wasn't just a guy thing, after all.
The local obāsan were no joke either—half of them were ex-racers themselves before settling down into married life.
They just swapped leather jackets for aprons and funneled all that fiery energy into haggling at the supermarket.
"Blah blah blah—you're just into that little pretty boy, aren't you?" Shintarou sneered. "Guys like him can't even ride. What's he good for, huh?"
It wasn't just Shintarou.
Every guy in the group had the sa sour look.
Kyousuke didn't just steal the girl—they hated how stupidly handso he was.
He wore nothing but a plain school uniform, and yet everything about him scread expensive.
The bike. His posture.
That ridiculously perfect face that made won drool even in the dark.
What the hell was a guy like that doing up here at night? Clearly, this wasn't about racing.
He was here to make them look bad. Sabotage, plain and simple.
Yeah. That's it. Totally.
Kisaki Tetta and his three buddies all nodded silently to themselves.
They got it. Who wouldn't be mad?
This was supposed to be their "single losers' road trip," dammit!
Weren't they just planning to publicly roast Kuroda for being the only guy with a girlfriend?
Wasn't big bro supposed to be tragically buried in a sea of won?
Why was there a supermodel biker chick here, of all places?
This wasn't racing anymore—it was sabotage!
If this wasn't their boss standing there, Kisaki would've already walked over and ripped off his head to see whether he ca to ride bikes… or ride sothing else.
Just look at it—see? Even the local delinquents can't stand watching this anymore!
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