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    Summary

    Fists connecting with skin had become part of Goro’s daily routine, whether he warranted it or otherwise. Bathed in the neon lights of Tokyo’s Kamurocho, his sweat and blood twinkled as he shifted swiftly, dodging punches and kicks like it was choreography he had practiced for hours on end. Hell, this was probably the closest he’d ever get to being an idol. He chuckled at the thought, wide smirk spreading on his face, eyes lighting up in glee as he swerved out of the way of what would have been a particularly forceful punch. He knew his opponent’s strength all too well, and although Goro seemed like a well-oiled machine, his body had seen better days, and sustaining a blow like that nowadays would hurt like hell.

    Hm. It sounded tempting.

    Language:
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