Steven leaned against the shop's chipped brick wall, the April chill brushing his skin as he eyed the chat interface. The sake was gone, zapped to Tsunade, and he couldn't help grinning, picturing her staring at the bottle like it was a cursed artifact. The screen hummed.
[*Ding!*]
[5th_Hokage: Can't wrap my head around it, but I've got nothing to explain this.]
[5th_Hokage: This sake's not bad. How'd you manage that?]
He snorted. "Got her," he muttered.
[Admin_Tarnished: Glad it's a hit. Snagged it from a shop here—nothing special, just figured you'd like it. This chat's got some wild tricks. So, how's your day? Running that village keeping you busy?]
He sent it, eyes flicking up. The city sprawled around him—jagged buildings, stuttering neon, the low rumble of a train somewhere. *Bushwick, maybe?* he thought, scratching his jaw. If he was in Bushwick, Knickerbocker Avenue was close—ten minutes west. Pawnshops littered that strip, wedged between delis and dollar stores. Someone might bite on the Rolls-Royce keys.
"System, can you scan the area?" he whispered.
[*Ding!*]
[Feature Locked: Environmental Scanning unavailable.]
"Great," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. Graffiti scrawled the walls, a bassline thumped from some apartment, and cars roared past. Just another night in the city. He glanced at the sleek key in his hand, its "RR" logo catching the streetlight.
A sharp shout sliced through the noise. Steven stiffened, head whipping toward the sound. Down the block, under a flickering lamp, two guys in hoodies pinned a woman against a shuttered storefront. One flashed a knife, its edge glinting, while the other tugged at her bag. She swung hard, clipping the knife guy's jaw, but he just shook it off.
"Shit," Steven breathed. He wasn't a hero—barely kept up with a jog—but the gun in his backpack changed the math. Without it, he'd have kept walking. He broke into a run, sneakers smacking pavement.
"Hey!" he yelled, voice louder than he meant. "Leave her alone!"
"Stay outta this, prick," Knife Guy snarled, stepping his way.
The two turned, both short—5'6", lean, jittery. Knife Guy's lip curled, but his eyes darted, registering Steven's height, his broad frame. Bag Guy's grip on the woman's purse slackened. She stomped his foot, wrenching free.
"Two on one? Real classy," Steven said, planting his feet. "Come on, try me."
Knife Guy wavered, glancing at his partner. Steven's size, his steady stance—it was enough to tip the scales. Bag Guy mumbled something, backing off. Knife Guy lunged anyway, blade slashing toward Steven's chest. Reflex took over. Steven dodged, grabbed the guy's wrist, and twisted hard. The knife clattered to the ground. Bag Guy threw a wild punch, but Steven ducked and drove a knee into his stomach. Bag Guy gasped, crumpling.
"Get lost!" Steven shoved Knife Guy back. The two stumbled, spitting curses, then bolted down an alley.
Steven caught his breath, turning to the woman. She straightened, brushing off her jacket, dark hair spilling from a loose bun. Mid-20s, eyes sharp, already sizing him up.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, voice even. "Thanks. Could've gone south."
"No big deal." He rubbed his neck, awkward. "I'm Steven."
"Maria," she said, adjusting her bag. Her tone was steady, but her gaze stayed guarded, scanning him.
"They didn't get anything, right? You good?"
"I'm fine. They got nothing." She nodded. "Thanks for jumping in."
He shrugged. "Just some guy, y'know. Watch yourself out here."
"You too," she said, stepping back, her walls still up.