A Rider Kick in Marvel Rewrite

Inside the DenLiner, the familiar scent of Naomi's coffee hung heavy in the air. Momotaros, Urataros, Kintaros, and Ryutaros crowded around the central table.

Ace leaned back in his chair, listening to the Imagin's post-mortem on the bank heist. Momotaros slammed a fist on the table, rattling the coffee cups. "That oversized hippo's skin is tougher than I thought! My sword barely scratched it!"

Urataros chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "Maybe you should try fishing for compliments instead of swinging that toothpick, Sempai? It might be more effective."

"Shut it, Turtle!" Momotaros shot back, glaring. "At least I actually tried to fight! What did you do, just stand around looking pretty?"

Here we go again, Ace thought, stifling a sigh.

Kintaros, true to form, remained slumped in his chair, snoring softly. His massive frame took up a considerable amount of space. He was immune to the bickering. Or maybe just asleep.

"Hey," Ryutaros chimed in, twirling a pen between his fingers. "I noticed the Imagin keeps going after banks and cash. Maybe its host really needs money?"

The comment cut through the bickering. Everyone paused, considering the implications.

Ace nodded slowly. "That's a good point, Ryutaros. We've been so focused on the destruction, we haven't really considered the contractor's wish. Money... what would someone need that much money for?"

"If the Imagin is after money, then maybe the host has a debt?" Urataros mused, stroking his chin.

"Or maybe someone is sick?" Ryutaros offered, his tone unusually serious.

"Doesn't matter." Momotaros interrupted, cracking his knuckles. "We find the Imagin, beat it up, and send it back to whatever hellhole it crawled out of."

Ace straightened up, pushing himself away from the table. "Alright, I'm going to head out. I'll see if I can pick up its trail, maybe ask around, see if anyone saw it. If we know what the money is for, we can predict its next move."

Time to hit the streets. Can't just sit around here, Ace thought to himself.

"And you, Momo," Ace said, turning his attention to the oni Imagin. "Let me know when you pick up that Imagin stench. It's the only lead we have."

Momotaros grunted in acknowledgement, crossing his arms. "Tch, don't need to tell me twice. A strong Imagin like that, I'll smell it from miles away!"

With a final nod to the argumentative Taros, Ace grabs the doorknob. The train car blurs into a familiar, gritty alleyway. He steps out. The DenLiner vanishes, leaving him alone with the early evening sounds of Musutafu.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of exhaust fumes and street food filling his lungs. Ace starts walking, letting the city's current guide him. Guess I will roam around and look for a new lead, he thinks.

…

The Hippo Imagin lumbered into Hiroki's cramped apartment, the door barely wide enough to accommodate its bulk. It heaved a burlap sack onto the floor, the thud muffled by the thin rug beneath. Stacks of unpaid bills littered every surface, competing for space with scattered takeout containers and worn-out manga volumes.

Hiroki sat hunched on a faded, threadbare couch, his face gaunt, his eyes shadowed. He looked up, a flicker of hope momentarily lighting his features. But as he saw the size of the pile, his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"This isn't enough!" Hiroki exclaimed, his voice laced with desperation. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, agitation clear in his movement. "I need more! A lot more!"

The Imagin, its blank face glowing with an eerie, soft light, growled in response. "More… money… danger…" The words rumbled deep within its chest, each syllable drawn out and unsettling.

Hiroki's impatience reached a fever pitch. He stood up, pacing the small apartment like a caged animal. "Just get it done!" he screamed, the volume echoing in the small space. "I don't care how you do it, but I need that money!" His voice cracked, revealing the strain of weeks without sleep and endless worrying.

His eyes darted around the room, landing on a framed photo of a smiling family. The image served as a painful reminder of what he stood to lose. His ancestral home, his family's legacy, everything rested on securing enough cash.

He turned back to where the Hippo Imagin stood, a dark and imposing figure in his already dismal life. "I need that money now! I don't want to hear about how tough it is or how dangerous! Just bring it to me!"

The Hippo Imagin remained silent for a moment, as if processing Hiroki's words. The air crackled with tension as it shifted its massive form, a signal of intent. Then, without another word, it turned and lumbered out of the apartment, its heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards.

Hiroki was left alone, the silence amplifying his thoughts. He stared at the sack of money, a meager offering in the face of his monumental need. He walked to the window. The sun was setting. He had to prepare for work. He ran a hand through his hair. He needed a shower and shave.

His breath hitched. The photo on the wall seemed to mock him. He was failing. He wasn't doing enough. He wasn't good enough. I need to save the house. I need to. I need to, he thought, his mind racing. The Hippo Imagin had to succeed.

Hiroki glanced at his watch. The digital numbers flashed [9:23]. His eyes widened. "Damn it, I can't afford to be late. Not again." He snatched a worn, brown coat from a hook by the door and shrugged it on, the fabric smelling faintly of leather and shoe polish. With a final, desperate glance at the photo, he headed out.

He jiggled the handle after locking the door, a nervous tic he'd developed recently.

…

Ace wandered, scanning the faces of people passing him. Neon signs buzzed overhead, casting a vibrant glow on the crowded sidewalks. Music spilled from open doorways, mingling with the chatter of voices and the rumble of traffic. He continued his search. Alright I need to ask around and see if anyone has seen a hippo.

Suddenly, Ace stumbled, colliding with someone hurrying in the opposite direction. He reached out, steadying the man before he fell. "Sorry about that!" Ace exclaimed, his voice laced with genuine concern. "Are you okay?"

The man, disheveled and pale, mumbled an apology without making eye contact. "It's fine… sorry," he muttered, brushing past Ace and continuing his hurried pace.

Ace watched him go, a strange feeling prickling his senses.

"Hey, Ace! That guy you just bumped into… I think he's possessed by an Imagin!" Ryutaros's voice burst into his thoughts, startling him.

Ace blinked, his focus snapping back to the retreating figure. He was surprised. "Seriously?" he asked, his mental voice tinged with disbelief. "You sure, Ryutaros?"

"Positive!" Ryutaros responded, his tone brimming with confidence. "I got a good feeling about this guy."

Ace watched the man disappear into the throng of pedestrians, his pace quickening. "Good catch," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "Let's tail him and see where he goes."

He quickened his stride, weaving through the crowd. He had to make sure he kept the man in sight.

Ace maintained a steady distance, his focus unwavering as he followed the man through a maze of streets. The bright lights and bustling crowds gradually thinned, giving way to a quieter, residential area. Eventually, the man turned down a narrow side street, stopping in front of a modest storefront. A faded sign hung above the entrance, proclaiming in simple lettering: "Takahashi Shoe Repairs."

Hiroki unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

Ace paused across the street, his gaze fixed on the small shop. Through the window, he could see Hiroki switching on the lights, revealing a cramped space filled with shelves stacked high with shoes, tools, and various leatherworking supplies. The air seemed to carry the distinct scent of polish and worn leather.

"So, he's a shoe repairman?" Ryutaros's voice piped up in Ace's head, breaking his concentration.

"Seems so," Ace thought back, his tone thoughtful.

If he's struggling to make ends meet, the Imagin would exploit that desperation, Ace surmised.

He imagined the pressure Hiroki must be under, the weight of financial strain pushing him to make a deal with a creature like the Hippo Imagin. It was a familiar story – desperation turning ordinary people into pawns.

Ace watched the store for a moment longer. If the Imagin is here, I need to act. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He glanced both ways before crossing the street. Approaching the entrance, he placed his hand on the handle, ready to step inside Takahashi Shoe Repairs.

***

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Advance chapters are in my P@|r3on - Najicablitz