The streets of Shinjuku pulsed with neon. Bars spilled laughter into the night, music thumped from underground clubs, and the alleys hummed with secrets.
Ryotaro adjusted his jacket as he walked, blending into the crowd. His exams were over, his summer was supposed to be simple—spending time with his mother, maybe buying gifts for his friends. But the city had whispered something else to him tonight.
At the detective bookstore he visited earlier, he overheard hushed words between two men in suits.'Organs. High price. Shipment tonight.'
Organ trafficking. Yakuza territory.
He couldn't ignore it. Not with his uncle's voice echoing in his heart: "A detective protects the weak. Even when no one else will."
Ryotaro turned down a narrow alley, pulling his Driver from under his coat. The familiar weight steadied him.
"System," he whispered. "Magma Memory."
The Gaia Memory clicked into his hand, glowing molten red.
MAGMA!
The fiery voice echoed in his ears as he slotted it into his Driver.
"Henshin."
A surge of flame wrapped around his body. The magma lines crawled like lava veins, encasing him in armor that pulsed with heat. His visor glowed like molten rock, his chestplate radiating with raw power.
Kamen Rider W—Magma Form.
He clenched his fists, heat rippling from his knuckles. "Time to put an end to this."
The warehouse stood at the edge of the docks, shadows crawling across its rusted frame. Two black vans were parked outside, guarded by tattooed men in dark suits.
Ryotaro crouched on the rooftop opposite, scanning the scene.
No police. Just them. This is their den.
He leapt silently down, landing behind a stack of crates. The molten glow of his armor flickered faintly in the dark.
Two guards patrolled near the van. He moved quickly, his steps whisper-quiet. When one turned the corner, Ryotaro grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the crates. Heat surged through his gauntlet—just enough to knock out, not kill. The man collapsed unconscious.
The second guard spun, drawing a knife.
Too slow.
Ryotaro's fist blazed, and he delivered a flaming hook across the thug's jaw. Sparks flew as the man hit the ground.
The smell of scorched cloth drifted in the air.
"Two down," Ryotaro muttered. "Dozens to go."
Inside, the warehouse stank of chemicals and blood. Crates lined the walls, some filled with medical equipment. At the center stood steel tables—improvised operating beds. And around them, at least twenty Yakuza men, armed with blades, bats, and pistols.
On one table lay a terrified young man, restrained, eyes wide with horror. A doctor in a mask prepared instruments.
"Ready for the extraction," the doctor said coldly.
Ryotaro stepped from the shadows, his armor glowing molten red. "Not tonight."
Heads whipped toward him.
"The hell are you supposed to be?" one thug sneered, raising his pistol.
"Toorisugari no Kamen Raidā da!Oboete oke!"
The first gunshot rang out. Ryotaro surged forward, heat blazing from his body. The bullet struck his armor and melted instantly.
He slammed his fist into the shooter's chest, a fiery shockwave blasting him into a stack of crates.
Chaos erupted.
The Yakuza charged in waves. Knives flashed, bats swung, guns barked in the dark.
Ryotaro roared, fire trailing from his fists as he met them head-on.
A blade came at his throat—he caught it between two molten fingers, the steel glowing red before snapping. His counterpunch set the thug's sleeve aflame, sending him screaming to the floor.
Three more came at once. He ducked under a swing, driving his knee into one man's stomach, then pivoted, a roundhouse kick blazing through the air. The impact sent another flying across the room, his suit catching fire.
The third tried to shoot him point-blank. Ryotaro grabbed the barrel, heat radiating until the gun warped and exploded in the man's hand.
"Try harder."
He slammed his opponent into the wall, leaving a scorch mark.
But the numbers pressed. Ten more surrounded him, forming a circle.
Ryotaro exhaled. The magma core on his chest glowed brighter.
"Fine. Let's turn up the heat."
He slammed his fists together. Lava erupted across his armor, flowing into his limbs. The floor beneath him cracked, glowing faintly from the heat.
"Magma-Burst!"
His gauntlets ignited like miniature volcanoes. He swung them wide, sending arcs of fire slicing through the circle. Men screamed as the blast hurled them backward, weapons flying from their hands.
The warehouse shook with the impact. Smoke and flames filled the air.
Only a handful remained—leaders, tougher, scarred. One, taller than the rest, stepped forward with a steel pipe. His arms bore tattoos of coiling serpents.
"You're dead, brat," the leader growled. "Nobody crosses the Yakuza and lives."
Ryotaro tilted his head. "You've already lost. Walk away now, or I'll make you regret every life you ruined."
The leader spat, then take out the Iceage Memory and insert to the chest area.
He then changed into monster with white color and pale blue veins over the body and white mask covering his face.
"Now. You are going to die."
He then started to attack with ice shards and charged towards Ryotaro. Their clash echoed like thunder. Ice Fist met flaming gauntlet, sparks showering the floor. Ryotaro absorbed the blow, twisting, then drove his elbow into the monster's ribs. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air.
The leader roared in pain, swinging wildly. Ryotaro ducked, his armor leaving trails of fire as he spun. He then inserted the Magma memory towards the other compartments.
-Magma__ Maximum__ Drive!
His fist blazed like an erupting volcano. He drove it into the monster's chest.
Magma_Impact.
The leader flew across the warehouse, crashing into a stack of crates with a sickening thud. He then changed back into human and Ryotaro walked towards him. And destroyed the Gaia memory.
The room was silent, save for the crackle of fire. The remaining Yakuza dropped their weapons and fled into the night.
Ryotaro turned, rushing to the restrained victim. He melted the cuffs with a touch, then helped the young man sit up.
"It's okay. You're safe now."
The man sobbed with relief.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must have called the police. Ryotaro glanced once more at the burning crates, then slipped into the shadows.
Outside, on the rooftop overlooking the docks, he released the Magma Memory. The armor dissolved into sparks of fire, leaving him in his jacket once more.
He exhaled deeply, the night wind cooling his sweat.
"First case," he whispered. "Not perfect, but… I did it."
The city sprawled before him, endless lights glittering against the dark. For a moment, he felt the weight of what he carried—the Nogami name, his father's absence, his mother's love, his own dream.
But tonight, in this small victory, he had been what he always wanted. Not just a fighter.
A detective who protected people.
Ryotaro smiled faintly. "Uncle Shoutarou… I hope you're watching."
And with that, he vanished into the Tokyo night, fire still burning in his heart.
*********
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