The city had grown too quiet.
Blüdhaven was a strange creature when stripped of its noise. No car horns echoing from grimy intersections, no drunken laughter spilling from alley bars. Only the whisper of the wind between rotting fire escapes and the faint, distant crash of waves against the docks.
To ordinary citizens, this silence was relief. To Ryotaro, it was an ending.
The headlines told the story:
"POLICE DEPARTMENT SHAKEN BY MASSIVE CORRUPTION SCANDAL."
"DARK SILENT GANG DESTROYED IN POWER STRUGGLE."
"BATMAN SIGHTINGS IN BLÜDHAVEN—CONFIRMED?"
People walked the streets a little freer now. Some even dared to smile. But for Ryotaro, the silence felt like a verdict. Batman cleaned up what I loosened. He ripped the board away just when the pieces were falling into place.
He wasn't angry. He had expected this. If anything, there was a thrill in being noticed by Gotham's shadow. Still, it meant Blüdhaven had nothing left to offer him.
"Ryotaro!"
His uncle's booming voice rattled down the narrow hallway of their three-story home. Ryotaro glanced up from his desk where his gadgets were laid out—Joker Memory, Lost Driver, the Frog Pod blinking with faint light.
"Yeah, uncle?"
"Did you pack? Don't make me wait. We're leaving for National City by tonight. I already called the landlord. We're not coming back."
Ryotaro's eyes drifted back to the belt and the shining purple Memory. With deliberate care, he slipped them into a false compartment in his black duffel bag, layering old books and shirts above them. No one—not even his uncle—would know.
"Almost done," he called back.
His uncle appeared at the doorway, struggling with two large suitcases, sweat shining on his forehead. He grinned despite the effort. "That's my boy. Always neat. Always ready. You don't waste time like your old man."
Ryotaro's lips curled faintly. "Guess not."
But in his head, the thought lingered: 'You'll never know what I waste my time on, uncle. And you don't need to.'
By midnight, the Hardboilder was waiting in the alley, black and green paint faintly gleaming under the broken streetlight. His uncle groaned as he squeezed himself into the sidecar, tossing one bag over his shoulder.
"Blüdhaven," the old man muttered, spitting onto the pavement. "I've had enough. National City's got more jobs, cleaner air, and real people. This place was cursed from the start."
Ryotaro pulled up his hood, hands steady on the handlebars. He cast one last glance at the skyline: the crooked towers, the blinking red lights, the dark alleys where he had hunted and hidden.
"…It wasn't all bad," he whispered.
His uncle tilted his head. "Eh?"
"Nothing," Ryotaro said quickly, revving the engine. "Hold on tight."
Within minutes, the streets of Blüdhaven blurred into streaks of shadow and asphalt. His uncle's curses at the speed faded into snores as he fell asleep, head lolling against the sidecar's edge.
Alone with the wind, Ryotaro let the city slip behind him.
But they weren't alone.
On a high rooftop, two figures watched the departing motorcycle. The cape of one billowed like a black sail. The smaller figure beside him shifted impatiently.
"After everything he did… we're just letting him leave?" Robin's voice cracked with frustration.
Batman's eyes never left the fading light of the Hardboilder. "He destabilized gangs. Exposed corruption. But he didn't kill. That tells me enough."
Robin clenched his fists. "He played me. He beat me."
"And chose not to break you," Batman replied. His tone carried no softness, only fact. "That means he's still finding his line. Testing himself. That's more dangerous than being an enemy outright."
Robin muttered under his breath, "And if he crosses that line?"
Batman's reply was quiet, almost swallowed by the night. "…Then we stop him. Like anyone else."
The cape folded back into shadow, and Gotham's guardians disappeared, leaving the boy on his bike to his own road.
The highway stretched endless before them, silver under the moonlight. Ryotaro's eyes stayed sharp on the road, but his mind wandered.
Blüdhaven had been a proving ground. A chessboard where he had tested lies and manipulation, only to face the one opponent who could always see through them.
Batman.
The thought made his lips twitch in a rare smile. I made him look my way. That's enough for now.
His hand brushed against his pocket. The Joker Memory pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. A reminder of who he was when the mask slipped on.
He glanced at his uncle, sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware. Maybe he thought Ryotaro was just a restless boy who stayed out late, reading, exploring, wasting energy like any other teenager.Better that way. His uncle didn't need to see what those nights really looked like.
The first signs came at dawn. Bright billboards, clean steel towers, wide avenues lined with morning traffic. A skyline brighter and newer than Blüdhaven's, as if it belonged to another world entirely.
National City.
Ryotaro slowed the Hardboilder at the city's edge, pulling to a stop as his uncle stirred awake.
"Mmm… are we here?" the old man yawned, stretching stiffly. His eyes lit up when he saw the skyline. "Now this is more like it. Fresh start, Ryotaro. You'll see. This is where we can really live."
Ryotaro nodded lightly, though his gaze lingered on the shining towers.
Fresh start? Maybe. But for me, this is the next board. A bigger stage. A city not claimed by heroes yet. After all, Supergirl must be the same age as me and the first Robin from I know.
Ryotaro pulled the hood tighter around his face and started the engine again. The roar of the Hardboilder blended into the waking city.
"This time," he murmured softly, almost to himself, "let's see how my shadows dance against the sun."
The motorcycle surged forward, carrying him and his still-unknowing uncle into the heart of National City. This will be the start of something for me. This time I am going to act like a normal hero and Kamen Rider. After all the trouble I caused.
*********
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