Bang!
Dio shoved open the rusty school gate, the iron bars clanging with a dull thud.
He was about to stride away from this place full of boring memories when a hesitant, trembling voice called out from behind.
"Dio?"
He paused, turning slowly.
Under the tall sycamore tree by the school path stood a middle-aged woman in a floral apron. She looked like she'd been waiting there for a while.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light on her graying hair, but it couldn't hide the deep crow's feet etched around her eyes. She looked older than he remembered—worn by time.
"Mrs. Green," he said, nodding slightly, his voice flat and emotionless.
His golden hair glinted as it brushed the star-shaped pendant at his neck, sharp as a blade in the sunlight.
The gesture wasn't a greeting or a goodbye—just a fleeting glance, like he was looking at an old mailbox on the side of the road, tied to faded memories but irrelevant now. Cold. Distant.
"Dio!" Mrs. Green called again, summoning her courage and jogging a few steps closer.
The edge of a folded paper peeked out of her apron pocket, the bold words Parent-Teacher Notice barely visible. She was clearly here for some kid's parent-teacher conference.
"Back then… it was you who saved me, wasn't it?" Her fingers nervously twisted the frayed edge of her apron, her eyes locked on Dio's face, searching, grateful. "I've been carrying that in my heart for years…"
Dio didn't bother with her words. His gaze flicked to her left hand. The ring was still there.
Guess that school bus crisis didn't wreck her marriage.
"No," he said, turning to push the gate open again, the rusty hinges squealing.
"Dio…" Mrs. Green's smile froze, a flicker of hurt in her eyes.
But as she watched his tall, proud figure in the autumn breeze, she took a deep breath and called out with stubborn warmth: "Dio! I've always thought… you're a good kid! Keep working hard and stay a good person, okay?"
Whoosh!
A gust of crisp autumn wind swept through, stirring up dry sycamore leaves that swirled between them, rustling mournfully.
Dio's steps faltered for a split second, almost imperceptible, as the leaves danced in the sunlight.
His wrist, catching a stray beam through the branches, gleamed with an almost translucent pallor.
But he didn't stop. He didn't look back.
He just gave a casual, careless wave over his shoulder, like he was brushing off an annoying speck of dust that wasn't even there.
Mrs. Green watched his familiar silhouette, her disappointment softening into a bittersweet smile. She shook her head gently. "That kid… hasn't changed a bit."
---
Cebulero's Motorcycle Shop – Ride Hard, Live Free!
Motorcycles, Repairs, Maintenance, Cleaning, Customization.
The neon sign on the glass door flickered with tacky flair.
Ding-a-ling!
Dio pushed open the heavy door, the copper bell above jangling sharply.
The air hit him with a thick mix of motor oil, rubber, metal, and dust.
The shop was small but packed: walls lined with colorful helmets and shiny parts, corners stuffed with half-dismantled motorcycle frames, the floor littered with wrenches, bolts, and greasy rags—a chaotic mess.
A massive, muscle-bound bald guy was crouched by a half-stripped Harley, his beefy arms straining as he wrestled with a bolt. Hearing the bell, he snapped his head up, his bushy beard splitting into a surprised grin.
"Dio! You little punk!" Cebulero's voice boomed like a bass cannon, rattling the small parts on a nearby shelf. He tossed his wrench aside, stood up, and wiped his oily hands on his work pants, striding over like he was about to crush Dio in a bear hug. "Thought you forgot about my dump of a shop!"
Dio sidestepped smoothly, dodging the enthusiastic "attack" with practiced ease.
"Cut it out," he said coolly, his eyes already scanning the wall of helmets. "I've been busy."
Cebulero missed the hug but just laughed, the sound shaking the ceiling. "Busy? You? Doing what, charming all the girls in town?" He winked, his beard twitching.
Ignoring the lame jab, Dio walked to the wall and grabbed a black full-face helmet with red lightning streaks—bold, flashy.
"Nice taste!" Cebulero said, swaggering over, proud as a peacock. "Limited edition. Kept it aside just for you."
Dio glanced at him, voice flat. "How much?"
Cebulero waved him off, all grins. "Money? Come on, we're tighter than that! Just take it!"
Dio snorted but didn't argue, slipping the helmet on and adjusting the chin strap. It fit perfectly.
"Last time you 'gave' me oil, you jacked up my repair bill," he said dryly.
"Heh!" Cebulero laughed, unbothered at being called out. "This one's really on me—call it thanks for teaching me that ditch corner trick."
Dio snapped the last buckle in place, his voice muffled through the helmet. "My bike?"
"Out back, ready to roll!" Cebulero led the way through the cluttered repair area, jabbering nonstop. "Tuned the engine a few days ago—runs like it's fresh off the line. New high-performance brake pads, suspension dialed in perfect. You won't wanna get off this thing!"
Creak!
He pushed open the squeaky back door, and golden sunset light poured in.
In the yard sat a few bikes, but the star was a sleek black Harley, its lines smooth and metal gleaming coldly in the sun.
"Not bad, huh?" Cebulero slapped the bike's thick, glossy seat like a proud craftsman. "Even threw in a little surprise for you."
Dio circled the bike slowly, his sharp gaze landing on the new chrome nameplate at the tail of the exhaust. Etched in bold, cursive letters: DK.
"…"
What's he playing at?
Dio looked up at Cebulero. "Free maintenance, free repairs… Since when are you this generous?"
Cebulero scratched his head, chuckling. "I'm dying to learn that ditch corner move. Next time we hit the hills, you gotta—"
"You know what I mean," Dio cut in, swinging a leg over the Harley with a smooth motion. He slid the key into the ignition and twisted.
VROOM!
The engine roared to life, a beast ready to pounce.
"Sounds good," Dio said, a rare compliment.
"Damn right!" Cebulero beamed. "Used some primo stuff on it!"
"Oh, and…" He leaned in, lowering his voice with a sly grin. "Your dad, Mr. Locke, doesn't know about this beauty, does he? Heard he's been spending big in town lately, but looks like you're doing fine."
Spending big? Dio's brow furrowed. What, blowing it all on seeds?
Whatever. If Locke found out about this bike, it'd probably end up under his butt every day, just like the mini-tractor Uncle Jonathan built that Locke and Saraphiel rode into the ground.
That's why Dio had used his secret savings to buy this Harley and stashed it at Cebulero's.
The shop owner was a good guy… well, at least after Dio smoked him on Interstate 70 and earned his respect.
"Fine, when are we hitting the road again?" Cebulero asked.
Dio fastened his helmet. "Busy lately. Next time."
Cebulero blinked. "You've got time to nod, but not to ride? Thought you were heading out for a joyride."
Dio rolled his eyes. "It's a habit."
"So why're you here?" Cebulero squinted. "Don't tell me you just came to snag a free helmet."
The engine roared as Dio answered, "Got a job."
"Oh." Cebulero leaned closer. "Short on cash?"
"A bit."
"What about that limited-edition Harley I looked into for you? Any luck?"
"Found it," Dio said. "They're asking a hundred grand."
"…"
"Quit dreaming, kid," Cebulero scoffed. "A job that pays ten grand a month? You pulling my leg?"
As Dio eased the bike forward, Cebulero pressed, "Where's this job, anyway?"
"Gotham," Dio tossed back without looking.
"Oh… Gotham, huh…" Cebulero nodded absently.
Then it hit him. His face froze, eyes bulging like saucers. Gotham?! That place could actually pay a hundred grand!
"What?! Gotham?!" he shouted, chasing after the bike. "Hold up, Dio! That's no joke! You know how crazy that city is? Cops don't even go out alone at night!"
But Dio was already at the yard's edge. He slowed slightly, glancing back, his gold hair catching the sunlight through his helmet's gap.
"Relax, it's just a job," he said coolly.
"A job?! In that hellhole? What kind of legit work is there? You're nuts! A hundred grand—you planning to rob a bank?!"
"And even if you tried, there's a line of crooks waiting to beat you to it!"
Cebulero stomped his foot, tempted to yank the bike back.
Dio didn't answer. He just waved, twisted the throttle, and the Harley roared, tires screeching as it shot forward like an arrow.
"Wait! You little punk!" Cebulero chased a few steps, but Dio was already gone around the corner.
He stood there, staring at the empty street, and sighed. "That kid… hasn't changed a bit."
---
Gotham's nights were never quiet.
Neon lights cast warped shadows on wet streets, their garish colors reflecting off puddles like shattered stained glass. The air reeked of oil, rain, and something rotten, like the whole city was decaying.
Distant sirens wailed, a sickly喘息, always chasing but never catching. From an alley, muffled arguing turned to a thud, then curses and scrambling footsteps.
Nobody checked. In Gotham, curiosity was a luxury, and the price was usually a bullet.
But in the city's sick pulse—
A deafening engine roar tore through the noise, drowning everything out. A black Harley, like a beast off its leash, screamed into Gotham at a reckless speed.
The engine's growl ripped the air apart, its fat rear tire spinning wildly on the slick pavement, screeching sharply.
Whoosh!
The bike carved a heart-stopping arc around a tight corner, tires kissing the ground but holding a miraculous balance, leaving only a ghostly black streak in the eyes of stunned onlookers.
"Who the hell's that crazy?" a thug by a wall muttered, his cigarette falling to the ground.
"Some lunatic," his buddy grumbled, eyes glued to the shadow.
In Gotham, flashy types either vanished fast or became legends.
And this rider? He wasn't here to lay low.
Under the helmet, Dio's crimson eyes narrowed, a faint, thrilled smirk tugging at his lips.
Interstate 70 to Gotham was shorter than he'd thought—two hours at full throttle. Though he'd had to stop for gas once, jacking up his "job expenses."
"Tch, gas here costs twice as much as Smoville," he muttered, but shrugged it off.
The Iceberg Lounge's pay was supposedly fat, and if that BlackgatePenguinC jerk tried to scam him, Dio wouldn't mind teaching the "bird enthusiast" what an emperor penguin's wrath felt like.
He eased off the throttle slightly, his sharp gaze scanning the gothic buildings looming like monster ribs.
Weirdly, despite his breakneck ride, not a single cop had buzzed around him. Were Gotham's police on vacation?
Vroom!
He caught flashing lights in his rearview mirror. Several modified bikes were closing in from different directions, their engines growling low and dangerous, like a pack of wolves circling prey.
"Oh, so they outsourced to bikers?" Dio snorted, finding the city's management absurd.
"Still…" he murmured, his crimson eyes glinting with excitement. "A little fun before work?"
"Not bad."
---