Kenji sat on the fitness bench, his right hand gripping a heavy iron dumbbell as he pumped through a set of curls. Sweat soaked his shirt, but he didn't slow down. As a Kamen Rider, he knew that relying solely on the suit was a rookie mistake. If he couldn't hold his own against a few minor Ethereals in his human form, he wouldn't feel worthy of the title.
"That being said," Kenji panted, glancing at Substitute Cloth, "I'm pretty sure two of me still couldn't take down one Zhu Yuan right now."
The Bangboo gave an encouraging "Ora!" and threw a jab at the air.
In this world, physical prowess was often tied to Ethereal Aptitude—a biological resistance to the corrupting influence of Ether. A score above 50 points was the baseline for entering a Hollow without immediately mutating. If you were below that mark, the Hollow didn't just kill you; it gave you just enough time to realize you were becoming a monster.
To join the Public Security Bureau, a score of 50 was mandatory. Kenji had passed, but his numbers were average—nothing like the "New Human" levels Zhu Yuan likely possessed. She was probably sitting at an 80 or higher.
"You're right, though," Kenji said, wiping his brow. "The Rider System is the ultimate cheat code. It doesn't care about 'aptitude' scores; it creates its own reality. Even with average stats, I can walk sideways through a Hollow. I just haven't had a reason to go looking for trouble yet."
Hollows were chaotic, non-Euclidean nightmares. You could step through an entrance on Sixth Street and find yourself falling from the sky or pinned to a ceiling. Without the navigation tech controlled by the PSB, entering one was a gamble with your life. Kenji was powerful, but he wasn't reckless.
After a cold shower, Kenji planned to turn in early for his first day of work, but the Kabuto Zecter had other ideas. It buzzed aggressively, bumping its metallic horn against the back of his head. It wanted to run.
"Are you a dog...?" Kenji grumbled.
He grabbed his keys and headed out. Substitute Cloth didn't miss a beat, leaping onto his back and clinging to him like a high-tech backpack.
Outside, he hopped onto his motorcycle. He stopped by Master Tingman's for a quick espresso to sharpen his senses, then roared out of the bright lights of Sixth Street toward the dark, sprawling ruins of the Old City.
The Old City was what remained of the original Eridu after the "Limbo" disaster. It was a lawless slum, a patchwork of crumbling concrete and shadows where every brick you threw was guaranteed to hit a criminal. It was the perfect place to let the Zecter stretch its wings.
Once he reached a dead zone where surveillance cameras were either broken or nonexistent, Kenji pinned the throttle. He called out to the belt, and the silver band materialized instantly around his waist. The Kabuto Zecter streaked through the air, clicking into place with a satisfying mechanical snap.
"Henshin!"
The hexagonal armor plates materialized over his skin in a blur of silver and red. The transition was seamless. As Kenji transformed, the motorcycle beneath him changed as well. Its black fairings shifted to a deep, glossy crimson; a red horn sprouted from the front, and the windshield reshaped itself to match the Rider's aesthetic. This was now the Extender, his personal Rider Machine.
Kenji felt the surge of power—the Rider System's output was at 100%. He leaned into a turn, the bike hitting 200 kilometers per hour in seconds. The Zecter let out a purr of digital satisfaction.
He circled the perimeter of the Old City but didn't venture deep into the slums. He had no interest in playing vigilante against common thugs. The history of Kamen Riders was filled with the struggle against losing one's humanity to power. If he started judging which humans deserved to live or die, he'd eventually lose himself in the vortex of his own ego.
"Eliminating Ethereals is justice," Kenji reminded himself. "Everything else is just noise."
He kept his original intention clear: protect the people from the monsters. It was the only way to ensure he didn't become a monster himself. However, as he turned the bike back toward the PSB headquarters, a different thought occurred to him. He didn't have to be a rigid executioner to be effective.
He had a plan for how to use this power. And tomorrow, his first day on the job, he would finally get to see if the world was ready for it.