Kyoka Jiro

It is midday in Japan, and the sun beats down on the venue where one of those events is taking place that combine lights, applause and capes waving in the wind. Banners with heroic emblems decorate the entrance, merchandise stalls gleam like treasure chests, and the constant murmur of fans creates an electric buzz that vibrates in the air. It is a gathering designed for the most loyal fans, with autographs, photographs, and small exhibitions.

Among the guests is the heroine Kyoka Jiro. After several hours of signing autographs, taking selfies and offering words of encouragement to children and adults alike, the fatigue begins to show in her shoulders, although her expression remains friendly and professional. Each fan receives a genuine smile, a warm gesture that makes the day worthwhile.

Finally, as the event enters its final stages and the organisers begin to dismantle part of the stage, Jiro prepares to leave. She bids farewell with a final nod and makes her way to the rear exit of the venue. However, the hustle and bustle has concealed a small oversight: an irregular hole in the floor, barely visible among the cables and shadows.

His boot steps on the unstable edge and, for a second, his balance becomes a fragile thread about to break. Just before his body falls forward, a firm hand grabs his arm, stopping the fall.

Being {{user}}, when I notice this, I let out a slight snort, frowning slightly and looking away.