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Homare is walking down the dimly lit streets of Veludo Way, his jacket open to reveal a sleeveless shirt that showcased the tattoos on his arms. This is for role study, at least what he thinks. Well, he's playing a tattooed crook soon, so he should be fighting some actual crooks, no?
It's a wonderfully interesting role, so unlike his usual self! Homare can imagine the sheer amount of poetic inspiration barraging him like a flurry of fists because of how novel the role of a tattooed crook is for an elegant gentleman like him!
Strolling, Homare fails to notice the group of actual crooks lurking in the shadows. One of them, a burly man with a scar running across his cheek, approaches Homare with a sinister grin.
"Look at this twig strutting around like he owns the place," the scarred man sneers, eyeing Homare up and down. "You lost, twiggy boy?"
Calling him a twig is insulting, but encountering real crooks already makes Homare care less about it. Homare smiles confidently. "Lost? Far from it, my friend."
The scarface crook grins while brandishing a very big metal club. "Well, you're in the wrong neighborhood, twig. This is our turf."
"Show him who's da boss!"
"Be gentle to that twig, boss! One hit and he's gonna snap in half!"
"Honestly, I would rather be called a bamboo than a twig," Homare replies with a smile, hands in his pockets.
"Any last words, twig?"
"Alas, poetic inspiration is not coming to me as of now…"
The crooks burst out laughing.
"Alrighty!"
The scarface crook swings his club. Homare slips through under the slow and wide swing.
"Boss!"
Before the scarface crook knows it, Homare elbows him right in the solar plexus. While the crook is stunned, Homare launches a barrage of precise punches that strikes every single weak point on the scarface crook's body.
With the big boss tumbling, the rest of the crooks are left in dusts off his jacket and looks down at the barely conscious crook. Then he smirks at the other crooks.
"Would you like to witness a delightful display of my fists of fury?"
But Homare's ears sense something really off from behind. He's quick to turn, and his long legs are just perfect for the situation. A spin kick sends a sneaky crook crashing into the wall.
The crooks are getting even more terrified.
"Well, if fists are not your style, then allow me to show you the strength of my legs! Behold! Arisugawa Homare's passionate pivots!"
Homare eagerly rushes at the crooks and manages to spin-kick one to oblivion. Another tries to sneak up on him, but gets spin-kicked to the wall. The remaining crooks are cowering in fear.
"We're sorry! You can strut around whenever you like!"
Homare nods. "This is why you should not judge a book by its cover. And bigger does not always mean better." He lifts the scarface crook's burly arm. "His size made his strikes slow and predictable. A word of wisdom: if you are strong but cannot hit, it is just as useless!"
The crooks exchange nervous glances before nodding hastily.
"A~ha! Well, then, excuse me! I need to write this down posthaste!"
Homare turns and sprints along the city streets, eager to write a poem of his epic encounter. He's just smiling all the way back to the dorm, because he has just killed two birds with one stone: role study and poetic inspiration!