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Minazawa was a curious place.

On one hand, you had your usual collection of rumors and superstitions, as well as the stupid nerds that thoughtlessly chase after them. On the other hand, you had your actual supernatural existences blending in with the rumors and doing physical harm to the modern world, as well as those that fought to stop such incidents from happening. Then you had the third party, those who were aware of the difference between fact and fiction, those who had sufficient power to stop such incidents…and those who didn’t give a shit despite all that.

Rokkaku, freewheeling high school dropout delinquent part-timer camper bro, fell solidly in the third category. As long as whoever was tossing lightning bolts wasn’t sending anyone uninvolved to the hospitable, the biker didn’t care, and the same sort of nonchalance could be directed to basically every monster that dwelled within the boundary of Minazawa. He wasn’t into hero play, after all, and after a six hour shift at Live House Thunderblood, all the delinquent wanted to do was to take his bike out for a spin through downtown, weaving through the boxy cars of corporate drones out to the quieter parts of Minazawa. He’d heard from his manager that there was quite a “rocking” lakeside camping spot nestled a little ways away in the mountains, and considering the weather…

Yup, nice and clear, without a single lightning bolt in sight. Revving up the engine further, Rokkaku ran the red light like the rebel he always was, speeding down towards the suburbs and his home for the night.