"Was I always this bold?" Kenji muttered to himself, the wind whipping past his helmet as he navigated the evening traffic.
Back on Earth, he had been the quintessential "invisible" office worker. Talking to a woman as striking as Zhu Yuan would have been his absolute limit for the year; asking her out for coffee was a move he wouldn't have dared to dream of. Yet, today, the conversation had flowed with a natural, effortless confidence. He didn't feel like he was faking it.
He realized then that it was the weight of the belt—even when it was invisible—that had changed him. He had been sublimated. He was no longer just an ordinary man; he was a Kamen Rider. Having the power to face gods and monsters had a funny way of curing social anxiety. When you know you can survive a building falling on you, a bit of small talk doesn't seem so daunting. He felt a newfound sense of calm, a steady internal gravity that offset his old habit of second-guessing himself.
He pulled onto Sixth Street, a place that felt like home despite its alien nature. New Eridu was the most prosperous city left in the world, and thanks to the "siphon effect," every square inch of land was worth its weight in Gear Coins. Luckily, when he had transmigrated, the universe had seen fit to give him a place to stay. If a Kamen Rider had to worry about rent and utilities, the hero business would have gone bankrupt in a week.
"Master Tingman, I'm back," Kenji called out as he passed the shop window.
The metal-headed barista robot looked up from a portafilter, giving a friendly mechanical nod. "Welcome back, Kenji. Would you like your usual roast?"
"Maybe later tonight. I've got a busy morning tomorrow."
Kenji drove around the back to the parking area, tucking his motorcycle under the rain shelter. He climbed the external safety stairs to the second floor, unlocked the door, and stepped into his sanctuary.
The entire second floor above the cafe belonged to him. He didn't know who the official landlord was—Tingman didn't seem to care, and the residents of Sixth Street generally preferred to mind their own business. As long as the lights stayed on, Kenji didn't ask questions.
The living room had been gutted and converted into a personal training hall. Pull-up bars, push-up stands, and heavy grip strengtheners occupied the space that should have held a sofa. In his old life, Kenji would rather lie down than sit, and the idea of a gym was a punchline. Now, he was terrifyingly self-disciplined. A day without training felt like a betrayal of the power he held. He wasn't about to be the first Rider in history to develop a beer belly under his armor.
The room wasn't quiet. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a punching bag echoed through the flat. On the floor, a small, round robot—slightly resembling a penguin in a black hat—was throwing a flurry of rapid-fire jabs at a knee-high bag.
"I'm back, Substitute Cloth," Kenji greeted.
The Bangboo stopped its workout and struck a powerful, wide-stanced pose, its large round eyes glowing with intensity.
"Ora!" it chirped with a heavy, metallic resonance.
Kenji had named it Substitute Cloth (or 'Sub-Bot' for short). In this world, Bangboo were ubiquitous—autonomous AI assistants that handled everything from navigation to heavy lifting. They were brilliant, learning machines, but they lacked the legal standing of sentient "Thierren" or human citizens. They were tools, discarded when they broke.
Kenji had found this particular unit in a recycling bin while he was out looking for parts. His initial attempt to repair it had been an unmitigated disaster; he had the mechanical aptitude of a potato. He'd spent weeks buried in repair manuals, understanding every individual word but failing to grasp the "Advanced Ether-Mathematics" required to make them work.
That changed the night he pulled the Build Driver and the Genius Fullbottle.
As he had struck the pose and slotted the bottle into the Driver—enduring a cacophony of "Great! All Yeah! Geni-us!" sound effects—he had transformed into Kamen Rider Build Genius Form. The sixty Fullbottles integrated into the suit didn't just provide physical power; they hyper-accelerated his cognitive functions.
In that state, the repair manuals that had baffled him became as simple as a children's coloring book. With a single glance, he had understood the Bangboo's neural architecture. Using the "Ultimate Science" of the Genius Form, he had rebuilt the abandoned bot from the ground up, adding a very specific set of custom features.
He had named it Substitute Cloth because, thanks to some clever Ether-manipulation and holographic tech he'd "borrowed" from his Genius Form memories, the little bot could mimic Kenji's appearance perfectly from a distance. As a Kamen Rider, Kenji knew that disappearing every time a monster showed up was a rookie mistake. If he went into an alley and a masked hero came out immediately, even the dimmest PSB officer would connect the dots.
The Bangboo was his alibi. While Kenji was in the Hollows delivering Rider Kicks, Substitute Cloth would be "playing dead" or "napping" in the office, ensuring no one suspected the sleep-deprived junior officer.
"Good work today," Kenji said, ruffling the bot's hat. "Rest up. Tomorrow, we start the real grind."