Behind the Mask

Whack Your Problems

Half an hour later, Kenji's bike roared to a stop at the edge of the park, its engine purring like a contented beast. My eyes widened as I took in the sleek, matte black machine. The body was tricked out with subtle, iridescent accents that caught the light, shifting colors between deep blue and emerald green. The handlebars were streamlined, with an array of controls on the dashboard. A glossy, full-face helmet dangled from one of them.

Kenji swung his leg over the bike with effortless grace. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a playful grin that reached his eyes. They twinkled with excitement as he asked, "You ready?"

I hesitated for a moment, my gaze flicking between him and the machine. "There is no way I'm getting on that thing."

He chuckled. "Come on, Ami. Don't you trust me?"

I crossed my arms. "Not really, no."

He grabbed the spare helmet and walked toward me; his eyes locked on mine. There was a confident swagger to his stride. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and took out a card. Then he handed it to me.

I looked down. "What is this?" I asked, taking the card.

"My license," he said. "If you don't trust me, then maybe you can trust that I am more than qualified to operate a motorcycle."

I turned the card over in my hand. Then I looked up at him.

He smiled and tilted his head. "You're still worried?"

I shook my head.

"Come here," he said, beckoning me forward.

Instinctively, I stepped closer, feeling the heat emanating from his body. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, filling my nostrils with a subtle blend of bergamot, sandalwood, and musk. He put the spare helmet on my head. Then he reached around me, adjusting the straps. His hands lingered on my chin for a moment, his fingers gently caressing the sensitive skin of my neck.

"It's not too tight, right?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"No," I breathed.

He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the rest of me. "Alright, let's go," he said, putting on his helmet.

Kenji helped me onto the bike, ensuring I was securely seated before he got on as well and revved the engine. The bike responded with a powerful growl.

"Hold on tight," he said.

I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the firmness of his abs and the swell of his muscles through his thin, leather jacket. I could feel the tension in his body, his muscles coiled like springs. He eased the bike out onto the street. The smooth purr of the engine grew louder, and the ground seemed to drop out from beneath us as we picked up speed.
Kenji weaved expertly through traffic, maneuvering the bike with an effortless grace. My grip tightened. The wind whipped past me, tugging at my clothes. I felt weightless and free.

"Where are we going?" I yelled over the roar of the engine.

"You'll see!" he called back.

We drove for several minutes, passing by buildings and pedestrians, until the city's landscape changed. The tall buildings and bustling streets gave way to a vast, open space. I saw the high fences and bright floodlights of the Tokyo Dome. Kenji expertly maneuvered the bike into a parking spot near the entrance. As he turned off the engine, I took a moment to catch my breath.

From the outside, the Tokyo Dome's vast, domed roof gleamed under the city lights. The arched steel ribs created a pattern of light and shadow, giving the appearance of a giant, metal spiderweb. I looked around. There seemed to be no events scheduled for the night, so the surrounding area was peaceful. The lush gardens and pathways around the Dome were softly lit by ornamental lamps, their golden light reflecting off the dewy leaves.