Morning sunlight bled through the dusty shutters of the mechanic shop.
Fenric, half-asleep on the old sofa, blinked awake, stretched his arms, and let out a yawn that echoed in the quiet space. Another day, same routine. He opened up the shop, flipped the sign, and waited for his workers to trickle in one by one.
By noon, the sound of clanging tools and humming engines filled the air. Fenric moved between the bays, giving short orders, wiping grease from his hands—just another ordinary day.
When evening rolled around, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and found it empty.
"Tch. Of course," he muttered, flicking the box with mild irritation. He called out, "handle the place for a bit. Don't blow up anything while I'm gone."
Fenric grabbed his jacket and stepped out. The streets glowed faintly under the sunset, warm light catching on the dust in the air. On his way to the corner store, he spotted someone coming from the other end — hands in pockets, head slightly lowered.
Noel —
They noticed each other almost at the same time.
"Oh, hey," Noel said.
"Yo," Fenric replied, nodding. "Didn't expect to run into you here."
"Yeah, was just heading home," Noel said.
"I see,"
then after a pause, Fenric offered, "Well, I'm heading to the shop to grab some cigarettes. Wanna tag along? Beats walking home alone."
Noel hesitated for a beat, then gave a half-shrug. "Grandpa's probably coming back late anyway, Sure. I've got time to kill anyway."
Fenric raised a brow. "You live with your grandpa?"
"Yeah." Noel's answer was short but not cold — just how he usually talked.
Fenric hummed. "hmm..Nicee ."
They fell into step together, the quiet rhythm of their shoes mixing with the hum of the evening streets.
Fenric glanced sideways. "So, how's life treating you?"
Noel exhaled softly. "Same as always. Trying to stay outta messes."
Fenric snorted. "Heh. That never really works, does it?"
Noel gave a faint grin. "Yeah… guess not."
By the time they reached the departmental store, the air between them had settled into something easy — not quite friendship yet, but close enough to feel natural.
.....
After shopping, Fenric and Noel headed back together. Fenric's workshop came up first along the same route toward Noel's house, so they walked side by side until their paths split.
Fenric added, "You like bikes, don't you?"
"I mean… yeah, kinda," Noel admitted. "They're cool, I guess. Just… never really got into it."
"Cool, huh? You talk like some old man describing music," Fenric teased.
"Shut up," Noel muttered, trying not to laugh.
Fenric chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Though it's funny — you like bikes but don't even know how to ride one."
"…Are you ever gonna stop reminding me of that?"
"Probably not," Fenric said with a smirk.
Noel sighed. "Well, even if I wanted to learn, I don't have a bike. Or the nerve to crash one."
Fenric lit a cigarette as they neared the workshop, the flame briefly flickering against the faint scars on his hand.
"I can teach you," he said, smoke curling past his words.
Noel blinked. "Huh?"
"You heard me," Fenric said, smoke curling lazily from his lips.
"If you've got time, come by the workshop. I'll teach you. Consider it a favor for not walking away when I started talking too much."
Noel raised a brow. "You sure that's not pity?"
"If it were pity," Fenric said, turning slightly with that same half-grin,
"I'd be charging you for it."
That made Noel laugh. "Alright, deal."
"Good." Fenric took a long drag, the ember glowing in the dusk.
"Let's see if you can handle more than just talk."
When they reached the Workshop, Noel looked around the place — the scent of oil and metal heavy in the air, a few tools scattered across the workbench.
"So, you're running this place all by yourself?" Noel asked.
"More or less," Fenric replied, wiping his hands with a rag.
Noel leaned on the counter. "Why a mechanic shop though?"
For a brief moment, Fenric didn't answer. His expression dimmed,
"Oh. Didn't mean to pry or anything," Noel said quickly.
Fenric waved it off with a short laugh.
"Nah, it's fine. It's not some tragic sob story or anything. I used to work with someone—someone I really respected. He's gone now. After that… I figured I'd do something I actually liked, something quieter. Turns out, I love working with bikes."
"…Sorry to hear that."
Fenric gave a soft laugh. "Don't be. He'd probably call me an idiot if I started moping"
voice steady. "It's life. You lose people, you move on. Can't stay stuck."
Noel nodded slowly. "Yeah. Guess so."
"Come in," Fenric said, flicking his lighter and taking a drag from his cigarette. "I've got something to show you."
Noel followed him inside, curious. The shop looked alive yet quiet — tools scattered, parts stacked, a faint hum from the old ceiling fan.
In the far corner, something large sat under a dusty cloth, long forgotten.
Fenric walked over to it, motioning with his chin. "Been meaning to clean this up for a while."
"What is it?" Noel asked, stepping closer.
"You'll see."
Fenric grabbed the edge of the fabric and yanked it off. A thick cloud of dust exploded into the air.
"—Cough— damn it!" Noel waved his hand, eyes squinting.
When the haze settled, his gaze landed on the shape beneath… and froze.
A bike.
A cruiser, matte black and built like a beast asleep for years.
Fenric grinned. "A Modded Rebel 500. Bit old, but still a beauty."
Noel just stared. The faint glint of metal, the smell of dust and rubber — for some reason, it hit him hard. His chest tightened. A sharp throb pulsed through his head—then suddenly, warm liquid trickled from his nose.
"Whoa—hey!" Fenric was beside him in an instant, grabbing tissues from the counter. "You alright?"
"Y-yeah," Noel muttered, holding the tissue to his nose. "Guess the dust got me."
Fenric frowned.
"Dust doesn't make you bleed like that. You sure you're fine?"
"I'll live," Noel said with a faint grin, wiping off the last of it. His eyes drifted back to the bike. "Still… that's one hell of a machine."
Fenric chuckled, tapping the seat lightly. "I know, right?"
Then, almost casually, he said, "You can keep it."
Noel blinked, stunned. "Huh? Wait—keep it? No way. That's way too much, man. It looks expensive as hell!"
Fenric smirked. "It's old, not gold."
"I'm not kidding," Noel said, still shaking his head.
"You can't just hand someone a bike like that out of nowhere."
Fenric laughed under his breath. "Relax. If you learn to ride properly, then it's yours. If not… well, guess that's just your fate."
"What?" Noel said, half laughing, half confused. "You're serious?"
"Pretty much," Fenric said with a faint smirk, running a hand along the dusty frame.
"Though it'll need some real repairs first. It's been sitting here forever… let's just hope it still runs when we're done."
Noel sighed, a reluctant smile forming.
"You really don't know how to take no for an answer."
Fenric grinned. "Wouldn't be me if I did."
Noel nodded slowly, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Alright then… guess I owe you one."
Fenric waved it off. "Don't mention it."
"Guess that means I'll be coming by more often," Noel said, heading for the door.
"Good," Fenric replied with a grin. "The shop could use more noise anyway."
As Noel stepped outside into the night, he turned back, giving a small wave. "See you, Fenric."
Fenric raised a hand in return, the faint hum of the workshop light flickering behind him.
Back home, Noel couldn't help feeling a little excited — it was all so unexpected.
Still, a question lingered in his head. Why would Fenric give away something like that?
The way he'd kept it covered, tucked away under dust and cloth… it looked like it meant something to him.
Noel exhaled, dropping onto his bed.
"Who knows," he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling.
"Maybe that bike won't even start again."
A small grin tugged at his lips anyway. But if it does…
…
…
Elsewhere-
The bar was quiet, the low hum of an old ceiling fan the only sound cutting through the heavy air. Bottles lined the shelves behind the counter, their reflections glinting in the dim light.
Raze stepped inside, his boots echoing softly against the worn wooden floor. Behind the counter stood an old man, wiping a glass with lazy rhythm — the kind of man who'd seen enough to recognize trouble before it spoke.
"I've got some questions to ask," Raze said, voice low.
The old man paused mid-motion, his eyes lifting — sharp, assessing. One glance at Raze's expression, and his shoulders slumped as if he already knew where this was headed
"…I don't do that business anymore," he muttered, setting the glass down.
"Go home, kid."
Raze didn't move. "My boss, Viktor, sent me."
The old man's hands froze. For a second, the faint clink of glass was the only sound. Then he let out a slow, humorless chuckle. "Viktor, huh…?."
He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. "Alright then. Speak. What's he after this time?"
Raze met his eyes steadily.
"Just information. Nothing more."
The old man sighed, shaking his head.
"Information's never nothing in this line of work."
Raze leaned forward.
"You ever hear of someone—no records, no trail, just a name people whisper? Someone who shouldn't exist?"
The old man gave a dry laugh.
"That kind of talk gets you stabbed in this city. Who's your boss chasing?"
Raze's tone dropped. "He's not chasing him. He's dead. Four years now."
The old man raised a brow. "Then why come to me?"
"Because we can't find a damn thing about him. Not a file, not a grave, nothing. Just a name."
The old man finally looked up. "And?"
"Four years ago, huh?" The old man's voice dropped, the calm tone fading. "Name?"
"Kaelar."
The glass slipped from the old man's hand and shattered. His face drained of color. He scanned the room instantly, eyes darting between the shadows and the door.
He leaned close — voice barely a whisper.
"Are you out of your damn mind? Don't say that name here."
"Why?" Raze asked.
The old man's tone cracked. "Kid, you say that name around Marco's men, and they'll bury you before sunrise."
That reaction alone told Raze he'd hit something real — something buried. He didn't back off. "Then tell me what's so cursed about it."
He leaned in, his tone turning sharp.
"You don't get it, kid. There are names that draw blood just by being spoken. Kaelar's one of 'em."
"You have no idea," the man hissed.
"You think your boss is the only one curious about him? Half the people who whispered that name ended up six feet under. The rest just... vanished."
Raze stayed silent, his expression unreadable.
The old man sighed, eyes clouding over with something between fear and nostalgia.
"There's no lead, kid. That man's gone. Dead and buried. Tell your boss Kaelar's nothing but a myth now — and soon enough, even that myth'll fade."
Raze hesitated. "You sure there's nothing you can tell me? Anything at all?"
"Anything at all would help. I'll just leave after that — no need to waste each other's time."
The old man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before finally speaking.
"Well… eight years ago, I used to be a butler. Not just any butler — a friend of another one." His eyes drifted, as if seeing something far away. "Kaelar's butler."
That caught Raze's attention instantly.
"Yeah," the old man continued, voice lowering.
"That guy was a mystery too. I tried digging once — no records, no traces. Everything that had his name on it just… disappeared."
Raze frowned. "What about Kaelar himself? Any friends? Family?"
The old man shook his head.
"Only child, far as I know. No siblings, no relatives left behind." He gave a tired shrug.
"That's all I can remember."
"Tch… damn it." Raze muttered under his breath, pushing himself up from the stool. "Guess that's it, then."
He started to turn toward the door when—
"Hey, wait," the old man called out suddenly. Raze paused. The old man's brows furrowed, as if a memory had just clawed its way back.
"I remember something."
Raze turned back, curiosity lighting up his eyes. "What is it?"
"Back in those days," the old man began slowly,
"Kaelar used to ride around late at night — always on his bike. Everyone knew the sound of that engine. When he was at his peak, no one dared cross his path. Not a soul."
He paused, a faint, nostalgic grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"But he wasn't always alone. He had a friend — more like a brother to him. They rode the same model of bike, always together, racing through the city like ghosts."
Raze leaned forward slightly. "A friend? You mean… Someone like him?"
"Something like that," the old man said with a nod.
"But that one didn't work for Marco. Never did. Kept to his own path. I don't know much more about him."
For the first time, Raze's eyes showed a spark of hope.
"Then where is he now? Still alive?"
The old man hesitated, squinting as if dragging the name up from deep memory.
"His name was… wait, what was it again…"
Everyone nearby went quiet — the hum of the bar fading into the background. Seconds ticked by. A full minute passed as the old man frowned, lost in thought.
Just then, a customer walked in and sat near them, setting his hat down.
"One Federweißer," he said casually.
"Oooh… yeah, right!" the old man snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up as he turned back to Raze.
"Fenric! That was his name. Fenric the Swiftfang. That's what they used to call him back in those days."
Raze straightened up instantly. "Thank god— finally. So where does he live now?"
The old man smirked, leaning forward with that teasing grin.
"Can't even find that out Guess you boys ain't as sharp as you think.?"
Raze gave a short laugh. "Guess we're still learning."
"Well, kid," the old man said, swirling his drink,
"I don't even know where he is. He's been underground for years. My guess— he quit the life, maybe living normal now. Haven't heard his name since Kaeler's fall."
"Hmm… damn," Raze muttered, pushing his chair back.
"Alright, old man. Thanks for the info."
"Tell your boss to move his own ass next time instead of sending you pups," the old man grumbled, half-grinning.
Raze chuckled. "Heh, I'll let him know."
For a second, Viktor's words echoed in Raze's head—
"That man… show him respect. He's like a senior to me."
He looked at the old man one last time.
"Hah, okay, old man. See you later."
"I wish not," the old man said, smirking as he raised his glass.
Raze walked out of the bar, the sound of rain starting to tap against the glass door. Moments later, he was back in front of Viktor, retelling everything— from Kaeler's myth to the name that resurfaced:
Fenric the Swiftfang.
Viktor leans back, exhaling.
"Finally… some clue. At least I can depend on Database this time."
"Database?" Raze asked.
"Yeah," Viktor said, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
"That old man's nickname was Database before he retired. He's a living archive—information about everything and everyone."
Viktor hummed, fingers tapping the table.
"Means now we've got to find this guy—ask about a man named Fenric. That might just lead us to what we're looking for."
One of the guards, who'd been silent till now, cleared his throat.
"Sir, if you don't mind, I've got something to say."
Viktor looked up. "Hmm? Sure, go on."
"Few days ago, my younger sibling told me something weird. He works under Viren's organization, and apparently his boss got beaten up by a workshop owner."
The boss frowned. "Typical—people using their power the wrong way."
"No, sir," the guard said quickly, shaking his head.
"That's the thing. His boss and his men got beaten by a single guy. Just one. The workshop owner himself. And he said that guy's name was… Fenric."
Raze grabbed the tablet, fingers tapping quickly as he scrolled through the workshop's details. "Hey, there's also a number listed here," he said, glancing up.
"Call it," Viktor ordered.
Raze dialed and handed the phone over to Viktor as the line began to ring. Beep… beep… click.
"Yeah, workshop services here. What do you want?"
"Well," Viktor said, his tone calm and casual,
"my car's having a little problem. You guys still open?"
"There are plenty of workers here," the voice replied.
"We're open almost twenty-four hours."
"Oh, that's good," Viktor said smoothly. "I'll be sending someone to the shop soon. What's your name, by the way?"
A short pause. Then—
"…I'm Daniel."
"Ooh," the boss said lightly, "Daniel, huh."
Across the table, Raze's eyes widened. He looked at the tablet, then at the boss, his expression tightening. The boss noticed immediately, catching the shift. "What is it?" Raze didn't speak—he just handed him the tablet.
The boss glanced at the screen… and froze.
His confident look drained away, silence falling over the room
He leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on the name flashing across the display.
...
"…So, is it really Daniel?