"Hmm…" Shotaro muttered, eyes locked on his smartphone, which lay on the ground in front of them. His fingers tapped idly against his knee. "Nobody's calling us."
It had been two days since the Red Eye Ronins had formed. Two days since they plastered their posters all over Musashi no Yamato City, offering help to anyone in need.
Shotaro's help.
And yet, the phone remained silent.
"I'm telling you," Hiroki sighed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Maybe we should've gone with a less sketchy name. 'Red Eye Ronins' makes us sound like a group of delinquents."
"We are delinquents," Bird reminded him. "Besides, it sounds cool as hell."
"No, it sounds like an underground biker gang that runs illegal gambling dens in back alleys," Hiroki shot back.
"Well, damn, maybe we should start one then," Bird grinned.
Before the argument could spiral, a voice cut through the air.
"Yo, Shotaro!!"
All three turned their heads.
Walking toward them was a man dressed in a Japanese police sergeant uniform, black with gold accents, the sheer drip practically radiating off him. He had long black hair tied into a neat bun, a sharp but mature face, a calm and cool protagonist aura, and golden irises that gleamed in the sunlight.
"Yo, Shotaro," he repeated, hands in his pockets, "you and your buddies smoking?"
Shotaro glanced at the unlit cigarette in Bird's hand, then at the man. "What does it look like, Mr. Shinkkai?"
Bird, ever the dumbass, panicked and crushed the cigarette like he was committing a crime in 4K.
Hiroki's eyes widened as recognition clicked. "Police Sergeant… Akira Shinkkai? Wait, you're the head of the Investigation Department?!" He leaned forward. "Aniki, how the hell do you know this guy?"
"His son, Kenshiro, was—" Shotaro paused. "—is my old friend from elementary."
Bird made a noise of disgust. "Kenshiro? You mean that soft, whiny bit—"
SMACK.
Shotaro's hand connected with the back of Bird's head before he could finish the sentence.
Bird stumbled forward, holding his skull. "Ow, what the fuck—"
"Shut up," Shotaro said casually.
Akira Shinkkai didn't even flinch. "Damn, kid, still got that fast hand, huh?"
"Yeah," Shotaro smirked. "Necessary when dealing with dumbasses."
"Facts," Akira nodded.
Hiroki and Bird exchanged glances.
"Why does this guy talk like he's the main character of a Chinese cultivation novel?" Hiroki whispered.
Akira leaned against a nearby lamppost, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "I do owe you one, though," he admitted, glancing at Shotaro. "Way back when you were a little elementary school brat, you protected my Ken from getting bullied—also, you used to do all my police stuff for me and let me take the credit, kid."
Shotaro gave a lazy shrug. "Do good and throw it in the ocean."
Akira let out a dry chuckle. "Nah, seriously. Thanks, man." His gaze drifted to Hiroki and Bird, eyeing their uniforms. "Oh, you guys are in TMH too?" He snorted. "Damn, my kid's in there too. Thought he'd be safe if we stuck him in the same school as Shotaro."
Both Hiroki and Bird looked at each other like they had just been accused of war crimes.
Akira continued, "Which class are you guys in again?"
"I-C," the trio replied in eerie unison.
Akira nodded. "Ken's in I-B." He exhaled through his nose and rubbed the back of his head before suddenly looking at them, eyes shadowed with something deep. "Actually…"
Before he could finish, Hiroki threw up his hands. "No, no, we don't do ragging!"
Bird, who had, let's say, a colorful history in this department, waved a hand dismissively. "I—I stopped ragging."
Akira suddenly stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Shotaro's shoulder, gripping it like a war general about to send his best soldier into battle. His golden eyes burned with a desperate plea.
"No, you don't understand. I want you to rough him up a bit."
All three of them froze.
Shotaro tilted his head. "What?"
Akira gritted his teeth. "That little shit either clings to his mother's tits or yours, Shotaro."
Shotaro instinctively placed a hand on his own chest, as if Kenshiro might actually be attached there like some kind of mutant parasite.
Akira ran a frustrated hand through his perfectly slicked-back hair. "I can't take it anymore, man. I just—I need him to be a man. Teach him how to survive in this godforsaken world."
"Like… what?" Hiroki asked cautiously.
"Teach him to cuss, drink, SMOKE—SOMETHING, DAMMIT!"
The trio exchanged glances.
Bird cracked his knuckles. "You want us to corrupt him?"
"Yes."
Hiroki folded his arms. "You want us to take a sweet, innocent kid and introduce him to the dark, depraved depths of society?"
"Yes!"
Bird rubbed his chin, nodding sagely. "So… full-on delinquent training arc?"
"YES!" Akira practically screamed.
The three boys huddled together like a squad of elite strategists about to orchestrate a coup. It was a sacred, unspoken ritual—heads close, whispers sharp, their collective brainpower fusing into something truly diabolical. Akira stood there, watching them like a desperate man placing his last bet on a roulette table.
Then, with synchronized precision, they turned back to face him, their eyes burning with the light of a higher purpose.
Bird took a step forward, pressing a fist to his chest with the solemnity of a warrior swearing fealty to his lord. "Officer," he declared, voice steady with newfound duty, "say no more."
Akira sucked in a breath.
Hiroki cracked his knuckles, a smirk playing on his lips. "By the end of the year—"
Bird's voice deepened with gravitas. "—he'll be running black-market arms deals in the Middle East and committing WAR CRIMES IN YEMEN."
A heavy silence followed.
Akira exhaled, nodding like a man finally freed from the chains of parental disappointment. "Thank you."
As Akira's voice faded into the night, Shotaro pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the weight of his choices.
"…Dumbfucks," he muttered, fully accepting that he would regret everything about this conversation.
"But don't tell my wife about this," Akira added in a hushed tone. "She's way too protective of that coddled little shit."
Bird, who had been spacing out, suddenly blinked. "…His wife?"
Shotaro sighed. "Maria Shinkkai. The school clinic's head."
Hiroki's jaw dropped. "Wait. You mean—THE hot Russian milf nurse!?"
Akira furrowed his brows. "Wh—"
Bird grabbed Hiroki's shoulders, shaking him as if he were waking up to the horrors of the universe. "Bro. BRO. This guy got to impregnate THAT!"
SMACK.
ANOTHER SMACK.
Shotaro stood over their crumpled forms, forcing both of them into a deep bow while two fresh, swollen lumps throbbed on their heads.
"I'm sorry," Shotaro said, voice dripping with exhausted politeness. "These two absolute degenerates don't know how to shut the fuck up."
Akira, trying and failing to hold back a grin, chuckled. "I guess that's why my wife trusts you so much." He gave Shotaro an approving nod. "You might as well be an unofficial Shinkai, kid."
Shotaro exhaled, shoulders sagging in defeat. He already knew how true that was. He saved Kenshiro from bullies years ago, and now the brat clung to him like an unofficial little brother. He constantly kept crime off Akira's ass. Maria patched him up every damn time he got himself hurt.
At this point, it felt less like the Shinkais owed him something and more like he had been forcibly adopted into their tax bracket.
Akira exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. "Anyway, what are you dumbasses even doing out here?"
"Waiting for someone to call us to fix their shit," Hiroki answered without missing a beat.
Akira raised an eyebrow. "You mean like... what the police are literally for?"
Shotaro, leaning back lazily on the bench, shot him a glance. "You guys deal with legally messed-up shit. Not morally messed-up shit."
The night air shifted.
Akira's smirk vanished. His golden eyes darkened with something unreadable.
"So," he said, voice low and dangerous, "you're playing morality police?"
Shotaro didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate.
"Yeah," Shotaro answered, casual as ever. "Basically."
The words hung in the air like the lingering scent of blood after a fight.
Akira didn't blink. Didn't look away.
For a moment, the weight of experience pressed against the reckless bravado of youth—one man who had seen too much, another who was just beginning to shape the world with his own hands.
Bird and Hiroki stiffened, instinctively holding their breath. The tension wasn't something they could describe. It wasn't friendly. It wasn't hostile. It was just heavy, like the quiet before a storm.
Then, after a long beat, Akira grinned.
"Good answer."
"Huh?" Hiroki blinked, breaking the silence.
Akira exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "I've been in this police business for twenty years. Trust me, kid—some legally messed-up shit gets buried under a pile of cash before anyone even blinks." His golden eyes flicked back to Shotaro. "I say a little bit of illegal moral policing—the kind done by you, the strongest force on this planet—won't hurt."
He wasn't joking.
He wasn't mocking.
He was acknowledging something.
Shotaro Mugiwara wasn't just a kid playing vigilante. He was a force of nature.
While waiting for a job, the three Red-Eyed Ronins—Shotaro, Hiroki, and Bird—found themselves wandering through the park, aimlessly kicking at the gravel, when fate delivered them an opportunity wrapped in Akira Shinkkai's exact words.
Because there, sitting alone on a bench, sipping a juice box like some elementary school kid, was Kenshiro Shinkkai.
Lacking. Completely lacking.
The three of them slowed their steps like a pack of wolves spotting an injured deer.
Kenshiro looked up, blinking behind his glasses, his maroon hair slightly ruffled by the breeze. His eyes—far too soft for someone who shared DNA with a police sergeant built like a wuxia warlord—landed on Shotaro, and for a moment, there was genuine hope in them.
"Sh-Shotaro-kun…" he muttered, like a lost child seeing his mother in a grocery store.
Shotaro stared at him. Silent. Judging.
"Hmmmmmm…" he said, nodding slightly.
"Damnit," Hiroki muttered, shaking his head. "A xianxia protagonist for a dad and a Russi—"
"Hot Russian," Bird corrected.
"Yes, a hot Russian mother," Hiroki continued, voice filled with betrayal, "and they produced this?!"
Kenshiro shifted uncomfortably. "Um—"
"Needs some…" Shotaro muttered, circling him like a sculptor inspecting a slab of clay. His crimson eyes narrowed. "…work."
"Huh?!" Kenshiro yelped, his voice cracking at the sheer pubescent struggle of it all.
Shotaro's right and left testicles—otherwise known as Hiroki and Bird—began their interrogation with the ruthless efficiency of a corrupt police force shaking down a clueless civilian.
"Do you cuss?" Bird asked, leaning in like he was about to uncover some deep, dark secret.
Kenshiro's eyes widened in pure, unfiltered shock. "C-cuss?! Y-you mean… bad words?"
Hiroki groaned, already feeling a migraine coming. "NO, it means reciting of the fucking gospel," he snapped. "Can you cuss or nah?"
Terrified, Kenshiro nodded his head in a way that made it seem like even that motion required divine permission.
Hiroki pointed at Bird. "Go ahead, call him a slur."
Bird turned to him, genuinely offended. "Excuse me?"
Kenshiro swallowed hard, his entire existence trembling under the weight of this impossible request. He focused, clenched his fists, and gathered all the courage his pathetic little soul could muster.
"C-catface…?" he whispered.
Silence.
Bird and Hiroki stared at him like he had just slapped their ancestors.
"…Catface," Hiroki repeated blankly, blinking.
Kenshiro nodded, like a student awaiting praise.
Bird exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Might as well call me a poppypants and a crybaby while you're at it."
Kenshiro's eyes lit up like he had just been given the cheat code to being a delinquent. "P-poppypan—"
"SHUT!!!" Hiroki roared, the sheer force of it making Kenshiro freeze mid-word. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked down, sniffling.
Hiroki dragged a hand down his face like a war veteran who had seen too much. "We get bad production every year," he muttered. "The fuck are you even doing in high school?"
Kenshiro sniffled. "Mo~~m..."
Hiroki's eye twitched. "MOM," he repeated, voice rising in frustration. "MOM!! MOM!!!"
Bird, losing patience, grabbed Kenshiro by the shoulders. "Alright, listen up, you soft little marshmallow. A dude walks up to you, calls you a fag, says your mom's a bitchy slut, and your dad's a retarded government cock muncher—what do you say back?"
Kenshiro hesitated, visibly trembling. "D-Don't call me that… o-or I'll tell an adult…"
Silence.
Hiroki clapped his hands slowly, mockingly. "ADULT! ADULT!" he repeated with exaggerated enthusiasm, like he had just discovered the concept of disappointment. "And how the fuck are you gonna be an adult if you need one to fight your battles for you?!"
Kenshiro sniffed again, looking like he was about to cry.
Bird sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is gonna take some work."
"Shotaro-kun!" Kenshiro wailed, looking at Shotaro like he was his last hope. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his entire being radiating pure, undiluted desperation.
Shotaro, meanwhile, was too busy dying of secondhand embarrassment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through gritted teeth like he had just witnessed a crime against humanity.
Hiroki threw up his hands. "Bro, you're acting like he's your dad and not the fucking police sergeant!"
Bird whistled. "Shit, at this point, might as well start calling him 'papa.'"
"Papa Shotaro!" Hiroki mocked in a high-pitched voice, clasping his hands together like a pleading child. "Save me from these big, bad bullies!"
Shotaro groaned, running a hand down his face. "I'm gonna fucking kill myself."
Hiroki grabbed Kenshiro by the shoulders like he was about to conduct a life-changing intervention. "Alright. Let's start with the basics. Do you jerk?"
"Wot?" Kenshiro blinked, looking genuinely lost.
Hiroki's eye twitched. "Do you jongle your dongle?"
"Wot??" Kenshiro repeated, even more confused.
Hiroki inhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. "Do. You. Self. Love?"
"I... I don't know what that is, I'm afraid—"
Bird slapped his hands on his knees. "Motherfucker, he's asking if you MASTURBATE!"
Kenshiro let out a horrified gasp, his expression the physical embodiment of a pure maiden being defiled by knowledge. "Wh-what?! No, no, no, no, no!"
"Why?" Shotaro asked, now genuinely curious.
"It's a sin," Kenshiro said with the kind of innocence that made the trio collectively recoil in disgust.
Hiroki clutched his chest like he had just been stabbed. "A sin? Bro, a sin your father should have committed so we wouldn't have to deal with your bitch ass?"
"A SIN???" Bird threw his arms up. "Then I must be the world's biggest heretic! Somebody fetch me a cross, let's go CRUCIFY ME!"
Shotaro finally lost it. He doubled over, gripping his sides as he wheezed. "AHHHHH! I CAN'T—!"
Hiroki wiped a fake tear from his eye, shaking his head like he was mourning a tragic loss. "I feel bad for the Shinkai bloodline, man. Mr. Akira, you will never be a grandpa at this rate."
Shotaro, still struggling to breathe through his laughter, managed to choke out, "Wait, wait… You're telling me you—a full-fledged 15-year-old, mid-puberty, prime of your life—don't take a little time out of your day to shake hands with the devil?"
Kenshiro gulped, looking like he was being interrogated by the Yakuza. "M-Maybe… just a little…"
Silence.
Then, as one, the trio exhaled like they had just found water in the desert.
"THANK GOD."
Bird wiped his forehead in relief. "For a second there, I thought we were dealing with a divine anomaly."
Hiroki placed a reassuring hand on Kenshiro's shoulder. "Alright, you're salvageable. We can work with this."
"How" Shotaro ask.
"Late at night" Kenshiro "When my dad comes from missions, tired my mom takes him to room & where do stuff, bad stuff".
The air around them shifted.
Hiroki's hand slowly slipped off Kenshiro's shoulder like he had just touched a cursed artifact.
Bird blinked. "Hold on. What?"
Kenshiro, completely oblivious to the horror settling in, continued, "Yeah… late at night, when my dad comes back from missions all tired, my mom takes him to the room and asks where to do stuff… bad stuff."
Silence.
The trio exchanged uneasy glances. They had a feeling where this was going, but they prayed to every deity in existence that they were wrong.
"I have a secret peephole in my room," Kenshiro added, his voice disturbingly casual. "Hidden from their sight. From there, I sometimes watch them make noises… lots of them."
Bird's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Hiroki's eye twitched.
Shotaro's fingers clenched into his temples, as if physically trying to push this information out of his brain.
"You're telling us…" Hiroki began, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You jerk off," Bird said, eyes wide in disbelief.
"To your own parents having sex?" Shotaro finished, his soul visibly leaving his body.
Kenshiro tilted his head. "Well, yeah—"
"NOOOOOOOO!!!"
The trio recoiled so violently it looked like they had been struck by divine lightning. Bird nearly lost his balance, Hiroki clutched his chest like he had been betrayed by God, and Shotaro just stared, expression completely blank—his soul had long since vacated the premises.
"What we thought he was," Zenkichi muttered, shaking his head.
"And what he actually is," Hiroki continued, looking utterly betrayed.
"A devil in a saint's robes," Shotaro declared, voice hollow.
"A Japanese Ranveer Allahbadia," Hiroki added, as if Kenshiro had personally offended his ancestors.
Bird took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, "Fuck suicide encouragement."
Hiroki cracked his knuckles, eyes dark with resolve. "Yeah. Let's just kill this motherfucker ourselves."
Shotaro, still in shock, slowly nodded. "Mercy killing. The kindest thing we can do."
Kenshiro, meanwhile, blinked, completely oblivious. "Huh?"
"Shut up, peeping bastard." Bird grabbed him by the collar. "You have forfeited your right to live."
"We had faith in you, man," Hiroki lamented, looking genuinely heartbroken. "We were gonna mold you into a man, make you cool, maybe even get you laid."
Shotaro sighed like an old war veteran. "But no. Turns out you've been running a whole incest voyeurism operation out of your damn bedroom."
Bird shook his head. "We can't save him, boys. The only thing left to do is send him straight to God for a hard reset."
"Ken-kun~~!"
A warm, honeyed voice called from the distance.
Kenshiro's face lit up as he bolted toward the source. "MOM!!"
Maria Shinkai stepped into view, wearing her signature clinic coat over a modest yet undeniably figure-hugging outfit. Her long violet hair cascaded past her shoulders, complementing her amethyst eyes that carried a soft, motherly warmth. And, of course—her legendary MILF-tier proportions ensured that every eye in the vicinity, even unwilling ones, took a moment of silence in reverence.
She smiled gently. "Ah, you were hanging out with Shotaro-kun and his…" Her gaze shifted to the other two standing beside him. Her expression froze for a fraction of a second. "…Hiroki Mazino and Bird?"
There was weight in her tone. Decades of knowing exactly what kind of walking, talking menaces these two were. Especially Bird, who once ran a whole underground empire of school bullying.
"Hey," Bird greeted, raising his hands innocently. "I stopped doing all that—look, Shotaro's here! You think I'd dare bully anyone with him around?"
Maria considered it for a moment, then relaxed. She had over a decade of trust in Shotaro, the unofficial fourth Shinkai. If he was keeping these two in line, then she had no reason to worry. Her smile returned. "It's nice to see you, Mugiwara-kun. Thank you for always looking after my Kenshiro."
"No, Mom, they were—"
Kenshiro abruptly stopped when he felt two heavy hands clasp his shoulders.
He glanced back to see Hiroki and Bird grinning. But not the friendly kind of grin. The kind that whispered, Say one more word, and you won't make it to dinner.
A cold sweat ran down his back. He gulped. "…Nothing. We were just hanging out."
Maria nodded, pleased. "Why don't you and your friends come over for dinner tonight, Mugiwara-kun?"
Shotaro rubbed the back of his head. "Let's try next Sunday."
Bird and Hiroki, meanwhile, were still drilling holes into Kenshiro with their stares. His lifespan had just been significantly shortened.
Maria smiled. "Well then, see you at the end of the week."
She was about to leave when Shotaro suddenly raised a hand. "Hey, wait a sec."
She turned, tilting her head. "Yes?"
Shotaro opened his mouth, then hesitated. For a brief, fleeting moment, he considered telling her the absolute atrocity her dear son had just confessed to. That her little angel had been doing unspeakable things while watching her and her husband get busy.
But then he saw Kenshiro's eyes—wide, desperate, silently screaming, Please, Shotaro-kun. Please, I am but a worm. Have mercy.
Shotaro sighed. Tch. The things I do for this little bastard.
Instead, he smirked. "You know, some houses have weak plaster in the walls. And sometimes, hidden holes get carved into them—perfect little spots for peeping."
Maria blinked. "Oh?"
Shotaro nodded, glancing at Kenshiro with a knowing look. "If you ever happen to find something like that in your house, make sure to fill it in."
Kenshiro's soul nearly left his body. He saved me again.
Maria chuckled. "That's good advice. I'll keep an eye out."
She turned and walked off, completely unaware of how close she had been to uncovering a nightmare.
Kenshiro exhaled in relief.
Bird leaned in, voice low and deadly. "You're so fucking dead next Sunday."
Hiroki suddenly spoke up. "You know…"
Shotaro and Bird turned to him. "Yeah?"
Hiroki averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, a suspicious blush creeping up his face. "Well… with a mom like that, even I would probably jerk off to her having se—"
SMACK.
CRACK.
BAM.
The scene immediately cut to Maria leading Kenshiro away, completely oblivious to the absolute carnage happening behind her.
Shotaro and Bird had Hiroki on the ground, delivering an exorcism by hands.
"YOU JUST HAD TO SAY IT, HUH?!" Bird roared, stomping on Hiroki's chest like he owed him money, his anger radiating with every movement.
"HE WAS ALREADY ON THIN ICE, AND YOU DOVE INTO THE FUCKING RIVER!" Shotaro added, his fist pulled back, ready to add another punch to the pile. The atmosphere was thick with rage, each word punctuating the gravity of the situation.
Hiroki, barely conscious, could only lie there in a daze, deeply regretting his words. Why do I always open my mouth around these two?
But before Shotaro could deal the final blow, his phone suddenly rang—cutting through the chaos like an unexpected bolt of lightning. The ringtone blasted from his phone, loud and proud, unmistakable and absurd.
"Are wa dare da dare da dare daAre wa debiru Debiruman Debiruman Uragirimono no na wo uketeSubete wo sutete tatakau otoko Debiru Arrow wa chouonpa Debiru Ear wa jigokumimi Debiru Wingu wa sora wo tobi Debiru Biimu wa netsu kousen
Akuma no chikara mi ni tsuketa Seigi no hero Debiruman Debiruman."
Bird and Shotaro froze mid-motion, both momentarily stunned by the absolute ridiculousness of the ringtone— screeching, intense rock blaring from Shotaro's phone made the whole situation feel like a fever dream. The music's raw, almost comical energy cracked the tension in the air.
Shotaro let out a long, irritated sigh as he glanced at his phone, the ringing cutting through the tension like a buzzsaw. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed but not enough to let go of the situation at hand. With a practiced, casual swipe of his finger, he accepted the call.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was deep, almost hesitant. "Yes?"
Shotaro's eyebrow twitched. "I saw a poster; are you 'the man they call'?"
Shotaro leaned back, tapping his finger on his phone as he drily replied, "It's actually 'the man you call,' but Hiroki's a fucking idiot."
There was a long pause before the voice responded, a bit awkwardly. "The one who runs the new... Red Eye Ronnins?"
"Yeah..." Shotaro replied, eyes narrowing.
"And the one with the Nazi symbol?" The voice asked cautiously.
Shotaro's eyes flashed with irritation. He gave Bird a sidelong glance, a look sharp enough to slice through steel. "That's a manji," he gritted through his teeth. "My retarded designer tilted it by accident."
Bird snorted, clearly trying to stifle a laugh, but Shotaro's glare was enough to keep him in check.
The voice on the other end hesitated before continuing. "Yeah, I read that you help people."
Shotaro shifted his stance, clearly bored but still keeping his cool. "Yeah, I do."
"Well, will you help me with something... personal?" the voice asked, the tone now tinged with desperation.
Shotaro's expression remained unchanged, but his words were sharp. "That's not even slightly gay, bro. That's fucking Grindr."
Bird chuckled beside him, the tension of the moment temporarily broken by Shotaro's bluntness. "Man, you seriously gotta watch who you talk to. Shotaro's not in the market for that kind of 'help.'"
The caller stammered, probably unsure of how to salvage the situation. Shotaro gave him a dry chuckle, clearly relishing in the awkwardness of it all. "Look, if it's not a mission or some actual shit, I'm hanging up," he warned, clearly done with the conversation.
"Right, right," the caller stammered, realizing the vibe he was giving off wasn't what Shotaro was having. "Sorry, I'll figure something else out."
Shotaro ended the call with a click and tossed his phone back into his pocket. He turned his attention back to Bird, who was still snickering.
"Man, what was that guy's deal?" Bird asked, shaking his head.
Shotaro rubbed his temples. "Fuck if I know. People are fucking weird."
"And you're somehow the king of this circus," Bird teased.
Shotaro just shrugged with a half-smirk. "Someone's gotta deal with the idiots, right?"
Shotaro was still processing the bizarre phone call from earlier when, almost as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, his phone buzzed again. He stared at the screen for a second, then groaned, already knowing what was coming.
He answered it with a barely contained sigh. "I am not letting you fuck me in the ass."
The voice on the other end didn't skip a beat. "I need your help with my coach."
Shotaro blinked, almost dropping the phone. What the hell...?
He glanced at Hiroki, who stared back, confused and a little concerned. Bird was looking at him too, his eyebrow quirked like a confused owl. The tension was thick, and for a moment, none of them said anything, just standing in the weird silence.
Then it hit them all at once. The realization. They had gotten their first actual call. An actual request for help.
"Is this... are we actually doing something now?" Hiroki whispered, wide-eyed.
Shotaro and Bird exchanged looks, their faces lighting up as if they had just been handed the keys to the kingdom. For the first time in what felt like forever, they were finally dealing with something that wasn't a complete clusterfuck.
"Yeah," Bird said, his grin turning into a smirk. "We're finally getting somewhere."
Shotaro was still trying to make sense of it. "Wait, wait, so this guy's not calling to ask for some... weird shit?" He glanced at the phone, then back at Bird and Hiroki. "You sure he's talking about his coach?"
Hiroki snorted. "Maybe it's a... metaphorical coach?" He was still trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.
Shotaro rubbed his face, clearly exasperated. "Whatever. At least this is something worth doing."
They all turned back toward the phone, as if it had become some sort of magical device that would change their lives forever. This was it. Their first real mission.
"Okay, alright," Shotaro said into the phone, a glint of determination flashing in his eyes. "What's going on with your coach? Talk to me, man."
Bird threw a fist into the air in celebration, then immediately regretted it when he almost hit Hiroki in the face.
"Finally," Bird said, his tone dripping with victory. "This is gonna be legendary."
Shotaro couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. "Let's just hope the coach's problem doesn't involve anything weird. Or at least, not the kind of weird we can't handle."
The group stood there, now ready for whatever weirdness would follow, relieved that they were at least making some progress in their strange little world. And who knew? Maybe they were about to embark on something even weirder than they ever imagined.
"Meet me at the Mushashinoyamato's city stadium," the voice instructed, its tone oddly calm yet carrying an undercurrent of urgency. The call ended before Shotaro could ask any questions, leaving behind an unsettling silence.
Shotaro, Hiroki, and Bird exchanged brief, knowing glances. Despite the weirdness of the message, they had little choice but to follow through. They'd handled worse—way worse.
Bird was the first to react. He flicked his wrist with a bored expression, his mantra flaring to life around him. The green energy field crackled and hummed, casting an eerie glow. Bird , Shotaro mused. it was a part of him, a constant, ever-present shield that let him survive the most ridiculous situations. It radiated like a storm contained, almost hypnotic in its power.
Without missing a beat, Shotaro's own aura began to manifest. A deep, blood-red halo of energy surged from his body, wrapping around him like a fiery cloak. His red mantra aura had always been linked to his strength and willpower, burning brightest when he was focused, ready to face whatever chaos was ahead.
Hiroki, ever the wildcard, summoned his own aura. Unlike the others, his was a cool indigo, swirling around him in graceful, fluid waves. It wasn't as explosive as Shotaro's or Bird's, but there was a quiet menace beneath the calm. Hiroki's mantra was tied to control—both over his body and his surroundings—making his presence all the more dangerous despite the casual demeanor he always wore.
"We ready?" Hiroki asked, his grin sharp but eyes calm. It was like he was itching for whatever trouble they were about to walk into.
Shotaro cracked his knuckles, his aura flaring hotter. "Let's go."
The next moment, Bird was already floating off the ground, effortlessly hovering with his atmic layer flaring around him. His energy crackled, and in the blink of an eye, he shot up into the sky, moving like a green streak.
"We race?" Hiroki asked, his tone teasing.
Shotaro's grin spread wider, and his mantra aura pulsed with excitement. "I don't think you'll like where I'm going."
Without waiting for an answer, Shotaro launched himself into the air, a red flare of energy trailing behind him. His movements were sharp, fast—his mantra amplifying his every action, his power practically screaming for action. His red aura was like a burning comet against the sky.
Hiroki shook his head, but his indigo aura bloomed around him as well. He raised an eyebrow, then followed, the air around him swirling in calm but intense currents. Hiroki was the picture of effortless control, almost like he was above the race.
Bird shot ahead, already speeding toward their destination, the green atmic energy swirling in his wake. "Keep up, slowpokes," he called back with a smirk.
Shotaro's red aura flared as he pushed himself harder, a grin spreading across his face. "Not a chance."
And so, the three of them streaked through the sky toward the Mushashinoyamato city stadium. The distance between them shrank in an instant, but the glow of their respective auras—red, indigo, and green—swept the landscape beneath them, making the sky seem alive with their energy.
As they approached the stadium, Shotaro could feel the familiar rush. Their auras were a part of them, a reflection of their powers and personalities. Red for raw power and determination, indigo for control and sharpness, green for resilience and chaos. No matter what awaited them at the stadium, one thing was certain: it was going to be a hell of a ride.
Iruna Kodone, a 22-year-old college student, brown short hair, broad hands for a baseball player, wearing a jump suite & basball hat [his fav] stood in the stadium, his eyes scanning the sky with growing impatience. He was a former high school baseball star and had joined the baseball club at his new school in Mushashinoyamato city. Despite his athletic reputation, today he felt a strange sense of unease. He was originally from Tokyo, where he'd once been the high school baseball star. Now, in his new city, he joined a baseball club at his college, but today? Today was different.
He muttered under his breath, his gaze turning to the sky, "When will they be coming?"
Without warning, the familiar whoosh of air sliced through the stillness, and the Ronnins landed directly behind Iruna, their presence so sudden that he almost dropped his phone. Shotaro, Hiroki, and Bird stood in a line, the air around them crackling with their distinct auras. Shotaro's was a fiery red, Hiroki's an intense indigo, and Bird's glowed a sharp, almost unnatural green. They looked out of place here—like walking myths in the middle of a college campus.
Iruna blinked, trying to process the surreal sight before him. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if his brain was trying to keep up with the chaotic turn of events. "Wait," he finally stammered, looking at them wide-eyed. "You guys are the Red Eye Ronnins I called?"
Bird, as nonchalant as ever, gave a lazy nod. "Yeah."
Iruna gaped. "Uhhh, what exactly are you?"
Hiroki, looking like someone who'd just been asked a very stupid question, answered without hesitation, "High school students."
"Dammit, I asked kids to solve my shit?" Iruna muttered, his frustration mounting as he tried to piece everything together. He looked them over again, more carefully this time, and then sighed. "Then again, no normal kid can fly. Guess you're not totally useless."
Shotaro gave him a sidelong glance, not at all fazed. "You called us?" he asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
Iruna rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely uncomfortable. "So... I kinda need help with something," he said, his voice lowering as if he didn't want anyone to overhear. "Something... personal, but it's not exactly normal."
Shotaro raised an eyebrow. Hiroki crossed his arms, already expecting something odd, and Bird was still looking off to the side, clearly uninterested—until Iruna spoke again.
"It's about my baseball coach," Iruna continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's been, uh... pretty bad to me and the other guys on the team. Not just yelling, but... physical stuff. And mental stuff too. He... he kinda holds our futures over our heads, you know?"
The trio looked at each other, trying to process the situation. Shotaro's eyes narrowed slightly as he crossed his arms, while Hiroki just waited for more, though Bird seemed to be nodding off.
Iruna took a deep breath before he went on. "But that's not even the worst part. My girlfriend... she's been sleeping with him. She says she does it so he doesn't, like, ruin my chances of playing. She says he's threatened to kick me off the team if she doesn't... keep him happy."
He looked down at the ground, clearly ashamed. "I don't know what to do. I'm stuck, and I don't know how to fix it."
There was a long silence, and even Bird's usual aloofness was replaced with a serious stare. Shotaro broke the quiet, his tone much softer than usual. "You want us to take care of your coach?"
Iruna hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah... But not like that. I just need... I don't know, something. Some way to make it stop without making everything worse."
Hiroki raised an eyebrow, his usual laid-back expression replaced with a more serious one. "Do you 100% know it's your girlfriend?" he asked, glancing at Iruna.
Iruna didn't even hesitate. His face was dark with frustration as he answered. "Yeah, he's sending me the videos... the petty bastard."
Bird, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly spoke in a tone far more serious than anyone had ever heard from him. "Basic NTR plot," he said, his words landing heavily in the air.
Shotaro shot him a side-eye, clearly not impressed with Bird's blunt observation. "You could also use those videos as proof, you know," he said, his voice deadpan.
Iruna immediately shook his head, his eyes tight with worry. "No. If I do that, it'll ruin Kanade's future. Her face is in those videos." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
The tension in the air thickened, and for a moment, everyone was lost in thought.
"Hiroki, Bird," Shotaro suddenly spoke up, his tone cold and commanding, snapping everyone out of their silent contemplation.
"Yeah?" Hiroki asked, crossing his arms.
"Someone dared act like it's an ugly bastard NTR in our city," Shotaro continued, his eyes narrowing in fury. "Do you know what that means?"
Hiroki and Bird both exchanged looks of understanding. "Yeah," Bird muttered with a grin that was way too sharp. "He messed with the wrong person."
Shotaro's eyes burned with barely contained rage. "GET THE FUCKING BAMBOO!" he shouted, his voice cracking with intensity as his aura flared up.
The three of them exchanged glances, and without another word, they were off—already making plans for a swift resolution. Iruna, still trying to process everything that had just been said, was left standing there, utterly speechless. The Red Eye Ronnins had just escalated the situation beyond anything he expected—and he had no idea what was coming next.
The scene shifted to a dimly lit office inside the stadium, the air thick with sweat, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable stench of unwashed gym clothes. Behind a cluttered desk, sinking into a chair far too small for his bloated form, sat Iruna's baseball coach—a tall, fat, greasy bastard whose very existence felt like a crime against personal hygiene. His double chin wobbled as he smirked, his beady, predatory eyes locked onto the girl sitting stiffly on his lap.
Kanade, wrapped in her cheerleading uniform, looked painfully out of place—like a porcelain doll someone had mistakenly placed in a landfill. Her hazel brown hair framed her uneasy expression, her shoulders tense as she sat perched on his knee like some oversized toddler. Her arms were rigid at her sides, fingers digging into her thighs, clearly trying to minimize contact with the disgusting man beneath her.
The coach leaned in, his breath a toxic mix of energy drinks and regret. "You know, Kanade-chan," he murmured, voice oozing with sleaze, "cheerleaders should always be close to their star players, but it's the coach who makes the real decisions~."
His bloated fingers twitched, inching toward her waist, his sausage-like hands sweating grease.
"Maybe if you really cheer me up, I won't have to be so hard on Iruna, huh?"
He let out a disgusting chuckle, the kind that made you want to punch a hole through reality just to escape the sound.
Then suddenly--
The door didn't just open—it exploded inward like the wrath of heaven had personally decided to renovate the office. Papers flew, the nameplate on the desk flipped over, and the greasy bastard behind it barely had time to register what was happening before—
BOOM.
Iruna burst in like a goddamn action hero, zero hesitation, snatching Kanade away from the disgusting embrace and into his own. The moment she felt his arms around her, the tension in her shoulders eased, her grip tightening around his shirt. "I got you," he whispered, voice steady.
But the coach? Oh, the coach was fucked.
"GET HERE, DAUGHTERFUCKER!"
Before the fat bastard could even process the insult, Hiroki and Bird grabbed him by the collar and belt, yanking him straight out of his chair like a sack of rotten rice. The impact alone sent a wave of pure fear through his sweat-drenched body.
Then came the beating.
SMACK. A fist to the gut, forcing out a disgusting wheeze.
CRACK. A brutal kick to the shin, dropping him to one knee.
SLAP. Not even a punch—a full-force, disrespectful, open-palm slap across the face that left a red mark shaped like regret.
"She's your daughter's age," Hiroki growled.
WHAM. Another punch.
"She's your daughter's age," Bird repeated, slamming an elbow down on his fat shoulders..
The coach tried to speak, tried to beg—but every time he opened his mouth, another fist, elbow, or knee reminded him that actions have consequences. His pleas for mercy got drowned out by the chorus of pain and regret echoing off the office walls.
"NTR'ing in this city," Hiroki muttered, shaking his head in disappointment before planting another heel kick straight into the coach's kidney.
"Where the fuck is Mugyiwara?" Iruna asked, still trying to process how quickly things had escalated.
Bird, never missing a beat, pointed toward the window. "The son of whores never uses the door."
Right on cue, Shotaro dropped in from the window, landing with the grace of a man who had done this way too many times before. He took a moment, cracked his knuckles, and looked down at the battered, wheezing excuse for a human being on the floor.
"You fucked her," he said, rolling his shoulders.
"Now we fuck you."
Kanade trembled, her entire body shaking as hot tears streamed down her face. "I didn't—I didn't know he was sending them," she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel so... dirty."
Iruna held her close, his jaw clenched so tight it might break. "It's not your fault," he muttered, his eyes burning with rage.
Meanwhile, the coach lay sprawled across his desk, his breath ragged, his face swollen. He was sweating buckets, yet he still had the nerve to glare up at Shotaro with defiance.
"We need your confession," Shotaro said, looming over him.
"Fuck you," the coach spat, reaching for the telephone to call security—a last, desperate move.
Before his fingers could even graze the receiver, a searing red beam shot from Shotaro's eyes, instantly slicing through the phone's cord.
The coach flinched back. "FUCK!" he yelled, eyes darting between them in panic before steeling himself. "You know what? FUCK YOU! YOU WILL NEVER GET A WORD OUT OF ME!"
Shotaro exhaled through his nose, his crimson eyes glowing faintly. Then, with a smirk, he snapped his fingers.
"Yeah, I won't," he said. "But they will."
Hiroki immediately pulled out a thick, freshly marinated bamboo stick— soaked in a nightmarish blend of spicy Chinese oil, wasabi, and Carolina Reaper extract.
At the same time, Bird revealed a sledgehammer.
The room went silent.
The coach's face turned pale. Sweat dripped.
The coach's face twisted in sheer horror as he eyed the marinated bamboo stick and sledgehammer. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. "W-What are those for?" he stammered.
Shotaro gave him a deadpan look. "For the piñata," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Today's my birthday, after all."
The coach blinked. "Oh, uh… Happy Birthda—"
CRACK.
Shotaro's open-palm slap damn near unhinged the coach's jaw, sending him reeling back into his chair.
"I wasn't being serious," Shotaro muttered, shaking his hand out like he just smacked a bug.
Hiroki twirled the bamboo stick between his fingers like a damn drum major. "We're gonna strike it inside," he said ominously.
Bird hoisted the sledgehammer onto his shoulder. "And get the truth outside," he finished.
Silence.
The coach gulped.
Bird yanked the coach up like a sack of rotten potatoes, bending him over the desk with zero effort. The fat bastard squirmed like a beached whale, but Bird's grip was ironclad.
Shotaro turned to Iruna. "Grab his legs."
Iruna hesitated. "B-But—"
"GRAB HIS FUCKING LEGS!!" Shotaro barked, his voice carrying the weight of divine judgment.
Iruna, with the look of a man questioning his entire life, reluctantly obeyed, locking down the coach's flabby legs.
Meanwhile, Hiroki, with the precise movements of a swordmaster, aligned the well-marinated bamboo with its intended destination.
The coach screamed before it even touched him, his soul already preparing for departure.
Shotaro grabbed the sledgehammer, his expression unreadable.
"A TEACHER MUST TEACH. A TEACHER MUST PROTECT," he declared, his voice booming with authority. "AND YOU DO THIS? YOU WATCH TOO MUCH NTR HENTAI YOU SICK FUCK!"
Then came the swing.
A helicopter shot straight to the rear, delivered with such force that Kanade let out a horrified gasp, spun on her heels, and buried her face into the wall. Even if she hated the bastard, she wanted no part in witnessing whatever medieval justice was unfolding behind her.
The following events are too graphic for this medium. So instead, here's a child-friendly screensaver of Baby Shotaro riding a capybara.
Baby Shotaro (Babytaro) sat atop a capybara, gripping its fur like he was on a mighty steed. His tiny silver hair ruffled in the breeze as he puffed his cheeks out.
"Gao."
The capybara remained unfazed.
By the time the "friendly" interrogation was over, the coach wasn't just broken—he was a shell of a man, shaking, drenched in sweat, and utterly defeated.
The bamboo lay discarded like a relic of war. The Red-Eyed Ronnins stood victorious.
Faced with the inevitable, the coach sat before Officer Akira Shinkai, spilling every last disgusting detail like a man who had seen the gates of hell and decided he wasn't ready.
Shinkai, a seasoned officer, had seen some shit in his time—but this? Even he looked at Shotaro, Hiroki, and Bird with a mix of disbelief and admiration.
"You really made my job easy," Shinkai muttered as he cuffed the trembling coach, shaking his head. "Almost too easy… What the hell did you guys do?"
Shotaro smiled. "Justice."
Bird cracked his knuckles. "Vigilante tax."
Hiroki patted the bamboo like it was Excalibur."Community service."
Kanade stood before Iruna, trembling.
Her fingers curled into her cheerleading skirt, her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to say so many things, but all that came out was a whisper. "I… I'm sorry."
Tears slipped from her hazel eyes, her emotions overwhelming her.
"I didn't want to, I swear," she choked. "But when he threatened you, I— I felt like I had no choice. And now, I just— I just feel so... defiled."
Iruna took a step forward, then another.
"Hey."
She looked up, vulnerable.
"You're not dirty. You're not ruined. And you're not alone."
Her breath hitched.
"Kanade," Iruna said, voice steady, "I still love you."
Her hands trembled before she threw herself into his arms.
The moment froze—a perfect, cinematic second as he caught her, holding her tight.
Then, suddenly…
From the corner of the room, soft, sultry jazz music filled the air.
Iruna and Kanade blinked, slowly turning their heads.
There, in the most bullshit romantic gesture of all time, the Red-Eyed Ronnins had somehow acquired a full jazz ensemble.
Shotaro sat coolly at a piano, fingers gliding over the keys with the skill of a born jazz prodigy.
Hiroki stood beside him, decked out in a white suit, sunglasses, and a saxophone, absolutely wailing out a heart-melting solo.
And then, at the center of it all—
Bird.
On an upright bass.
Shades on. Expression unreadable. Plucking that shit like his life depended on it.
Iruna and Kanade stared.
"...W-When the fuck did you guys get instruments?" Iruna stammered.
Bird simply nodded once, knowingly.
The jazz continued.
As the soft jazz music played in the background, Kanade buried her face into Iruna's chest, her trembling fingers clutching his shirt as if afraid he'd slip away. Iruna held her tight, his grip unwavering, reassuring—the kind of hold that told her he wasn't going anywhere.
Shotaro, Hiroki, and Bird, still fully committed to their impromptu jazz band, played along, somehow adding to the romantic atmosphere.
Then, suddenly—
"Also, Hiroki..." Shotaro's voice broke the moment, his tone completely deadpan. "That bamboo is smeared with that guy's shit. Don't hold it like it's some mighty sword that won a war."
Hiroki froze.
He slowly looked down at the disgusting bamboo in his hands.
There was a beat of horrified silence.
"EWW—FUCK—SHIT!!!" Hiroki shrieked, launching the bamboo across the room like it personally betrayed him.
It bounced off the wall, spinning midair before clattering to the floor with a wet, unholy slap.
The room erupted.
Bird immediately doubled over laughing, nearly dropping his bass. Shotaro wiped a fake tear from his eye, shaking his head.
"A tragic end for the legendary blade..."
Even Kanade, sniffling from moments ago, couldn't help but let out a watery giggle against Iruna's chest.
Iruna sighed, shaking his head. "You absolute dumbass."
Hiroki, still shuddering in sheer horror, whipped around to glare at Shotaro. "WHY DID YOU WAIT UNTIL NOW TO SAY THAT?!"
Shotaro shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was enjoying the moment."
More laughter.
As the ridiculousness of it all settled in, the tension of the night finally cracked.
Kanade, eyes red but smiling now, gazed up at Iruna. And in that moment—amongst the laughter, the absurdity, and the sheer chaos of the Red-Eyed Ronnins—she felt safe again.
Iruna smiled back. "Let's go home."
She nodded.
And as they walked out together, hand in hand, Hiroki was still in the background furiously scrubbing his hands against his pants.