The next morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the drawing.
No matter how hard I tried to forget it, the image of the black helmet refused to leave my mind.
“Why did I draw it?”
The question stayed with me throughout every class.
Even when Takoru slept beside the window as usual…
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
After lunch, our art teacher announced that the next class would be held in the Art Studio on the west wing.
“There are signs everywhere,” she smiled.
“You shouldn’t get lost.”
Apparently…
She had overestimated me.
“…West wing?”
I stood in the middle of a corridor, staring at three different staircases.
Every hallway inside Mirae Academy looked exactly the same.
Students passed by without paying attention, while I wandered from one corridor to another.
“…I think I’m lost.”
I sighed softly.
At the end of the hallway stood an old metal door that looked completely different from the others.
It was slightly open.
Curiosity quietly pushed away my hesitation.
I stepped closer.
With a gentle push…
The rusty door creaked open.
Warm sunlight greeted me.
I had unknowingly walked into the old backyard of Mirae Academy.
Wild grass covered the ground.
Ancient oak trees stretched their branches toward the sky.
Unlike the modern campus…
This place felt forgotten.
Peaceful.
Silent.
Then…
My eyes stopped on something beneath one of the trees.
A motorcycle.
It stood there like a silent predator resting after a long journey.
Its matte-black body reflected thin rays of sunlight, while every polished chrome detail gleamed beautifully.
Even someone like me…
Someone who feared motorcycles…
Couldn’t deny how breathtaking it looked.
My fingers instinctively tightened around my sketchbook.
“I should leave…”
I quietly turned around.
“Don’t touch it.”
A calm voice stopped me.
My heartbeat skipped.
I slowly looked back.
A pair of black boots came into view.
Then blue jeans.
A white school shirt with the sleeves carelessly rolled up.
Finally…
Takoru Ryuzaki.
He was sitting beneath the tree, leaning comfortably against the motorcycle.
His eyes had been closed.
Now they were looking directly at me.
For the first time…
He didn’t look cold.
He didn’t look untouchable.
He simply looked…
Tired.
Lonely.
As if this quiet corner of the school was the only place where he could breathe.
Neither of us spoke.
The wind gently moved the leaves above us.
“I wasn’t going to touch it.”
My voice came out softer than I expected.
Takoru looked at my sketchbook.
Then back at me.
He seemed surprised that I had answered him at all.
Most students either stared at him…
Or avoided him.
I did neither.
Without another word, I took a careful step backward.
“I…
got lost.”
It was the first honest explanation that came to my mind.
For a brief second…
Something almost looked like amusement crossed his face.
Almost.
“The Art Studio…”
His calm voice broke the silence.
“…is that way.”
He pointed toward another path hidden behind the trees.
I blinked.
“…Thank you.”
He gave the smallest nod before closing his eyes again.
As if our conversation had never happened.
I quietly walked toward the path he had shown me.
Just before reaching the old door…
I looked back.
Takoru was still sitting beneath the tree.
One hand rested lightly on the motorcycle’s fuel tank.
His eyes remained closed.
He looked strangely…
At peace.
As though the motorcycle wasn’t just something he rode.
It was home.
A place where nobody expected anything from him.
A place where he could simply exist.
For the first time…
I realized something.
Maybe…
I wasn’t the only person carrying invisible scars.
And somehow…
That thought stayed with me long after I left the backyard.
To be continued…
Thank you for reading another chapter of The Biker Who Stole My Fear.
Today’s chapter wasn’t about romance—it was about understanding.
For the first time, Rubi saw a side of Takoru that no one else seemed to notice.
Sometimes, the strongest people are simply the loneliest, and sometimes the places we treasure the most are the ones that quietly protect our hearts.
What did you think about Takoru’s secret place?
Do you think the motorcycle is just his favorite possession…
or does it hold a deeper meaning?
And if you were in Rubi’s place, would you have stayed…
or walked away?
I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!
If you’re enjoying the story, please consider voting and adding it to your library.
Every bit of support motivates me to keep writing.
See you in the next chapter!