Chapter Text
Kakucho charged like a freight train, anger barely held back as his fists clenched tighter with every step. “I’m taking you back, Mitchy!!” he roared.
But Takemichi met him head-on—eyes hollow, jaw clenched, that katana in his grip shimmering with menace.
Their first clash was brutal. Kakucho’s fist flew, Takemichi dodged—barely—his blade slicing across Kakucho’s arm, not deep, but enough to draw blood.
“Fuck!” Kakucho hissed, holding his arm, but didn’t stop.
“You’re hesitating,” Takemichi muttered darkly, spinning the blade in his hand. “That’s why you’ll lose.”
“I’m not here to win, you idiot!” Kakucho exploded. “I’m here to wake you up!”
And then it really began.
Kakucho lunged forward, feinting right before slamming his elbow into Takemichi’s side, sending him stumbling. Takemichi responded with a wild swing of his katana. Kakucho ducked low, sweeping Takemichi’s legs from under him. He hit the ground hard—but rolled back up just as fast.
“Why are you doing this?! Why are you acting like he matters more than us?” Kakucho screamed.
Takemichi gritted his teeth, his voice guttural. “Because he STAYED when you left!!”
“I ONLY LEFT BECAUSE I LOVED YOU TOO MUCH TO RUIN YOU!!” Kakucho shouted, his voice cracking.
Takemichi’s breath hitched—just for a second. A flicker of something broke through the haze, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He roared, swinging his katana again.
Kakucho caught his wrist, forcing the blade down, their faces inches apart. “Where’s the Mitchy who called me cool?! Who bandaged my wounds?! Who made me laugh like life wasn’t hell?! WHERE IS MY MITCHY?!”
Takemichi twisted his body violently, breaking free and sending Kakucho stumbling back. He wiped blood from his lip, panting.
“ He died the day you walked out that door .”
Kakucho froze, chest heaving. “Then I’ll bring him back—even if I must fight you a thousand times.”
With that, he ran at Takemichi again, this time not with anger—but with everything in his heart: every punch, every block, every dodge— full of memories .
The way Takemichi used to grip his hand when he was scared.
The way he smiled when he snuck extra bread from the kitchen.
The way he whispered, “I love you forever,” the night before they disappeared.
Punch after punch landed. The crowd blurred into static. Blood mixed with dirt. Pain blended into something deeper.
“Come back to me…” Kakucho whispered, catching Takemichi’s face in both hands despite the sword pressed against his chest. “ Please , Mitchy.”
Please.
I don’t care about the past. I don’t care about the world crashing down
All I need is you, here, now.
Just hold me, and I’ll forget everything but you.
Takemichi trembled. Eyes wide. Jaw slack.
Then, slowly… the sword lowered.
Just a little.
“ I Heard Everything .”
Takemichi’s fingers twitched, weak and limp in Kakucho’s grasp. His breaths were ragged. Exhausted. Empty.
Kakucho lowered him gently to the ground, brushing the sweat-drenched bangs from his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Mitchy… I’m sorry we left…”
He didn’t even hear the footsteps behind him at first.
Until a shadow fell over them.
“…You kept our beds the same?”
Kakucho’s head snapped up. His breath caught in his throat.
Takemichi’s eyes fluttered open — half-lidded, unfocused — but then they widened in disbelief.
“…Izana…?”
There he stood.
Kurokawa Izana . Silent. Still.
No smug grin. No sharp quip. Just a man who looked like he’d been stabbed in the chest and was trying not to bleed.
“I heard everything.”
His voice was quiet. Unsteady.
Takemichi blinked, stunned. “...”
Stop. Go away …
Izana stepped closer, and the battlefield somehow felt even quieter. His eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were haunted.
Don’t come near…
He crouched down slowly, reaching out like Takemichi might vanish if he moved too fast.
He paused. His voice wavered.
“I didn’t think you’d still be waiting for us. After everything.”
Takemichi clenched his jaw, tears spilling over again. “I waited every damn day , Izana. Even when it hurt. Even when I hated you for it.”
Even when I couldn’t forgive you, my heart kept whispering your name, hoping you’d hear it and come back.
“I hated myself first.”
That made Takemichi go quiet.
Izana looked down, his fists clenched.
“The night we left... we had everything packed. We were supposed to wait and come home… to you.” His breath hitched. “But something changed, I didn’t think I deserved to be under the same roof as you.”
“ You were wrong .”
“I know,” Izana said, his voice cracking. “I know that now. But I was so scared. Scared that I’d ruin you, like I ruin everything I touch. So I kept going. I kept pushing forward like it meant something. Like we were better off apart .”
He reached out again — this time, his hand trembling as it cupped the side of Takemichi’s tear-streaked face.
Enough. Don’t touch me.
“But hearing you cry for us… It killed me, Mitchy.”
…
Takemichi didn’t move for a moment.
Then, like a dam bursting, he lunged forward and buried his face in Izana’s chest, sobbing harder than ever.
He’s so warm.
Izana held him tight, his tears slipping down.
Why are you the one crying?
“I’m here now,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
Don’t leave. Stay.
From the crown, Toman. Chifuyu took a step forward, a soft and surprised expression on his face. “I’ve… never seen partner this vulnerable before.”
Mitsuya smiled. “He fought like a warrior, acted like a leader… but he shattered the moment love was involved.”
This time, Kazutora was the one who spoke up. “I knew it. He gave all his strength to protect the ones he loved—leaving none for himself.”
Over to the other side, it was Senju, who also looked equally as shocked as the others. “Michi…”
Kakucho knelt beside them, head bowed, hands curled into fists.
“I should’ve never followed him,” he muttered. “I should’ve stayed. I knew you’d be hurt. But I thought I was protecting you, Mitchy…”
Takemichi, still clinging to Izana, whispered shakily, “I didn’t want to be protected. I just wanted you both.”
Nothing else mattered.
And there it was.
All three of them — on their knees in the middle of a battlefield that, for just one moment, didn’t matter anymore.
Just three broken boys trying to make their way back home.
The sound of gravel shifting was the only warning.
Takemichi was still on his knees, fists trembling, tears streaming down his face, when a slow pair of footsteps echoed into the ruined street.
He froze.
Not because he didn’t recognize it—
But because he did.
That heavy, confident pace. That near-silent swagger. That weight in the air that said, “You can run, but I’ll always catch up.”
Terano South.
He didn’t stomp in with rage. He didn’t scream or laugh like he always had.
He just walked in, hands in his pockets, and stopped a few feet away.
The silence between them stretched, dense and suffocating.
Then—
South smiled. Not cruel. Not mocking. Almost… pitying .
“I was wondering when it’d come to this.”
Takemichi didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
South tilted his head, eyes sharp with something unreadable. “You think I picked you because you were strong?”
His boots scraped the gravel as he stepped closer. “Nah. I picked you because you were already falling . All I had to do… was not catch you.”
Takemichi flinched.
“I watched you follow my orders with dead eyes. Watched you take hits like you wanted them. You never even asked why. Not once.”
Izana tensed behind Takemichi. Kakucho’s fists clenched.
South looked at them, then back at Takemichi. “These two—” he gestured with a lazy flick of the hand. “They left you in pieces. And the sad part is… I think you were waiting for them to come back and fix it.”
He crouched beside him now, gaze leveled with his.
“ They didn’t .”
Oh .
Takemichi’s breath hitched.
“You were already halfway gone when I met you. And you know what I gave you?”
He smiled wider.
“Permission to stop caring .”
Takemichi’s eyes burned. He didn’t know if the tears were new or just the same ones, refusing to dry.
“You followed me not because you believed in me—but because I never asked you to believe in anything. Not in love . Not in family . Not even in yourself .”
South stood again, towering now.
“I never tried to take your pain away. I let you live in it. You called it strength. But it was just numbness.”
He took one final step forward.
And said it, plain as day—
“I was the only one who didn’t leave you.”
That hit like a gunshot.
Izana looked like he’d been slapped. Kakucho’s expression shattered. And Takemichi—
Takemichi broke again.
But quieter, this time. Not in sobs, not in screaming.
He just folded in on himself, fingers twitching. Like his body couldn’t decide whether to reach for the people he loved or crawl back into the hole South had left open.
South didn’t press further.
He just turned, walking away like the conversation was done. Like the damage was done.
Izana stepped forward first, his voice shaking like it hadn’t in years.
“Takemichi—don’t listen to him. You’re not alone . We came back for you.”
Kakucho followed suit, jaw tight. “You were never supposed to carry all that alone. We fucked up. But this—”
He motioned toward South. “This isn’t you.”
Takemichi slowly stood.
Head down. Shoulders trembling.
The way his fists clenched… the way his breath quivered…
It looked like he was fighting back more than just tears. Like he was about to break free.
Kakucho took a hopeful step closer. “Come with us. Please.”
For a moment—
Just a moment—
The world held its breath.
Takemichi raised his head.
Eyes wide. Wet.
And smiling.
A weak, broken smile.
“ I’m okay ,” he whispered.
Kakucho’s chest caved in relief. Izana’s lips parted—ready to run to him.
But then—
Takemichi turned.
Back straight. Head high. That fragile smile dropped into blankness.
Not calm.
Not peace.
Emptiness.
And he walked.
Straight to South.
Izana’s breath caught. “Takemichi…?”
South said nothing—
He didn’t have to.
He just smirked, watching Takemichi stop at his side like a soldier returning to rank.
And Takemichi didn’t even look back.
South leaned down, close to his ear. “Knew you’d remember who stayed .”
And with that—
They turned.
And walked away.
No, no, no, no. Please.
Izana lunged forward. “ NO —!”
Don’t leave.
Kakucho grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back, voice cracking. “Takemichi, please —!”
I need you.
But Takemichi never slowed.
From the sidelines, Hakkai and Chifuyu shouted. Senju sprinted forward, Mikey’s fists trembled, even Draken moved—
But none of them got close.
Takemichi didn’t run.
He didn’t need to.
Because somehow, the weight of his silence made everyone freeze.
Like they all knew:
He was gone.
Not physically. Not entirely.
But the boy who had once cried for everyone, fought for everyone—
He’d been buried.
And what stood in his place was the version South had crafted:
A boy who no longer screamed or begged or believed.
Just a boy who followed.
A dim orphanage hallway, flickering lights overhead. Kakucho’s sitting cross-legged on a stained rug, a band-aid hanging from his cheek, and Izana's lounging beside him, leaning against the wall with that ever-present, unreadable expression.
Takemichi bursts in, carrying a tray with steaming food.
"You guys didn't eat dinner again! Come on, I made some food for us."
Kakucho lights up, “You’re the best, Mitchy.”
Izana just stares at the tray before quietly muttering,
“You’ll spoil us.”
Takemichi laughs. “Then be spoiled.”
They eat on the dining table in Takemichi's apartment, shoulder to shoulder, the sound of slurping noodles and soft laughter echoing down the empty hall.
A rained-out playground. Mud everywhere. The three of them huddled under the creaky jungle gym, soaked to the bone. Takemichi’s clutching a busted umbrella like it’s a shield.
"When we grow up... let’s get a real house. A safe one. With fancy furniture, cool architecture, and functional features."
Kakucho nods like it's gospel.
Izana looks up at the grey sky. “A house, huh? Sounds like a trap.”
Takemichi elbows him. “It’s not a trap if we fill it with love, dumbass.”
Izana’s quiet for a moment before saying, softer than usual,
“Then maybe… I’ll try to stay.”
A tiny birthday cake. Three candles. Burned ramen for dinner. Laughter so loud it echoed through the orphanage walls.
Izana, eyes glowing in candlelight, whispering:
"I think... this is what peace feels like."
The room is stifling. It’s a sterile, clinical silence, a space where thoughts are left to fester and emotions run wild. All of them are here—Toman, Tenjiku, Brahman—the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.
No one dares to move, speak, or even breathe too loudly. Their gazes keep flickering to Izana and Kakucho, but both men remain unyielding, stone-faced. They don’t speak. They don’t even look at anyone.
Kazutora stands near the center of the room, his body stiff, hands clenched into fists. He’s trying to keep it together, but his mind is a tornado of frustration. How could Takemichi… He doesn’t even want to finish the thought.
His eyes scan the room, landing on Kakucho—who’s still eerily quiet—then to Izana. Both of them are in their own world, isolated, locked in their thoughts.
"I don’t get it…" Chifuyu mutters under his breath, though it’s clear everyone hears him. "Takemichi… just left like that?"
Senju, standing beside him, is the next to speak. Her voice is tight, trying to hold it together, but there’s an edge of disbelief. "He… he didn’t even look back." Her words fall heavily in the room.
Mikey, usually calm and collected, is pacing back and forth. His mind is clearly working overtime, trying to piece together what the hell just happened.
His eyes flicker over to Izana and Kakucho before he speaks up. "We need to figure this out. He was with us for so long… what changed?" He looks to the others for an answer, but no one has one.
The silence grows heavier. There are a few exchanges of looks between the gangs, but no one dares to speak directly to Izana and Kakucho.
Kakucho’s eyes stay focused on the ground, and his jaw is clenched so tightly that it looks like it might break. His fists are white-knuckled at his sides. He’s holding something in, something that’s eating away at him from the inside out.
Izana, on the other hand, doesn’t even seem to be aware of the others in the room. His posture is perfect, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, cold eyes—are somewhere far away. It's clear he's thinking about something, but no one knows what.
Kakucho finally breaks the silence, but his voice is barely a whisper. "He left. He left us... without a word." His tone cracks toward the end, but he swallows hard and forces himself to keep his composure.
There’s a pause as the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Takemichi had been the glue that had held everything together, the boy who kept the peace between all of them, no matter how chaotic their lives had become. He had been the one to show up every time they thought all hope was lost. And now… now he’s gone.
Izana finally speaks, but it’s not what anyone expected. His voice is cold, detached, like he’s speaking through a veil. "It was always going to be like this," he says softly, as though to himself. "I told you. He was never ours to keep." His words hit like ice-cold water.
There’s no malice in his tone, no anger—just an eerie acceptance of what’s happened.
Kakucho, still standing by Izana’s side, clenches his fists again. His breath comes out in a shaky exhale, and for a moment, it looks like he might break. His eyes flicker toward Izana, silently begging for something—anything—that will make sense of all of this. But Izana doesn’t respond.
The room is dead silent, save for the sound of Mikey’s footsteps, his pacing growing more frantic with every step. Finally, he stops, running a hand through his hair. "We have to do something. We can’t just… let him go." His words are desperate now, barely controlled. "He was part of our team. He was one of us."
But Izana and Kakucho don’t respond. They stay silent, like statues. No one knows what to do. The shock of it all has paralyzed them.
Wakasa’s voice cracks, frustration and confusion taking over. "Dammit, Izana! Kakucho! Say something! You were supposed to—" He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. "You were supposed to bring him back..."
But it’s useless. Izana just looks at the floor, and Kakucho’s expression remains unreadable.
Senju steps forward, trying to break through the fog of confusion. "We need to understand why he left. Was it us? Was it you two? What the hell happened?!" Her voice rises slightly, the frustration boiling over, but it only makes the silence that much worse.
But still, nothing.
Finally, Mikey steps forward, his face hard, his gaze unwavering. "Then we’ll have to find him ourselves."
But Izana and Kakucho don’t respond to that either. It’s like they’re already a thousand miles away, lost in their own world.
Draken looks at Mikey, his expression filled with disbelief. "How? If we don’t know what happened, how do we even start?"
Izana raises his eyes for the first time since entering the room, his gaze piercing through the silence. But he doesn’t answer.
Instead, Kakucho speaks, his voice thick with emotion. "You don’t. There’s nothing left to do." His words are quiet, but they land like a punch to the gut. "He’s already made his choice."
Izana turns to leave, Kakucho following. Neither of them looks back, their footsteps echoing through the room as the weight of everything they’ve lost presses down on everyone.
All the executives and close friends from Toman, Tenjiku and Brahman stand there, stunned, unsure of how to even move forward. They wanted answers, but they got nothing.
Kazutora can’t take it anymore. His patience snaps, and his voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!" He steps forward, fury in his eyes.
"This is what you’re going to do?! You’re just going to GIVE UP?! After everything!? After all the battles, all the bloodshed, YOU'RE just going to walk away like it doesn’t matter?!"
He turns to the others, his anger rising. "What’s happened to the great Izana and Kakucho we used to know?! The ones who didn’t back down, the ones who fought for every damn thing they wanted?!"
Senju joins in, her voice sharp with frustration. "You think this is the end of it?! You think just because Takemichi walked away that everything’s over?!" Her hands are clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
"TAKEMICHI IS ONE OF US! We’re not just gonna sit back and let him go. And WE SURE AS HELL aren’t going to let you two drag us down with you!!"
Kakucho’s eyes flash for a moment, but it’s only a brief flicker. He looks at the floor again, shoulders slumping as the weight of his own silence presses down on him.
Izana, though, finally speaks—his voice a low growl, something dark lurking beneath it.
"You think it’s that simple?"
His gaze pierces the room, cold as ever. "You think that by yelling at us, you’ll fix everything? That you’ll somehow bring him back?"
A strange, bitter laugh escapes Kakucho, and he rubs a hand over his face. "You don’t get it, do you? It’s not about fixing anything." He looks up, and for the first time, there’s a rawness to his eyes. "It’s about accepting it. Takemichi is gone . We can’t change that."
Mucho, who had been silent up until now, takes a few steps forward. His voice is quieter, but there’s steel in it. "You think just because he left, that’s it? That’s the end of everything? You think you can’t do anything to fix this? To make it right?!"
He glares at Izana, who stares back with an unreadable expression. "Don’t you dare sit there like you’ve already lost, like nothing matters anymore. We’ve fought together through hell, and I’ll be damned if I let some stupid decision tear everything apart."
Mucho steps closer to Kakucho, his anger no longer just bubbling under the surface. "You think you’ve got it figured out? You think this is the end of it?" His voice is shaking now, not from fear, but from frustration.
"You, who’ve been through more than anyone, are going to let this break you? I know you, Kakucho. You’re stronger than this. Hell, we all are."
Senju stands next to Mikey, her voice shaking with emotion. "You can’t just throw in the towel. Takemichi needs us, and damn it, we need him. We’re not walking away just because it’s hard. So stop acting like everything’s lost when it isn’t."
There’s a long pause. The room is dead silent, all eyes locked on Izana and Kakucho, waiting for them to say something. But it’s like they’re both trapped in their own world, unable to break free from the despair that’s consuming them.
Then, suddenly, Izana stands up straighter. His eyes flash with something—something almost like anger, but deeper. "You think I want to be like this?" he snaps, his voice sharper than before.
"You think I wanted to lose everything? I don’t want to feel this way." He turns toward Kakucho, his expression darkening. "But it’s easier this way. It’s easier to shut everything out, to accept the fact that we’re just… alone."
Kakucho doesn’t say anything in response, but the tension in his posture lessens slightly, like he’s finally starting to listen.
Mikey doesn’t back down, his voice unwavering. "No. You’re not alone.” He paused.
“Not if you don’t want to be. But we can’t help you if you don’t let us in. We’ve been through worse. You and I, we know how it feels to lose everything. But that’s when you fight harder. That’s when you don’t give up."
A pause. A long, suffocating silence.
Then, slowly, Kakucho looks up. His eyes are haunted, but there’s a flicker of something else there, something that wasn’t there before. Izana, too, shifts slightly, his guard lowering just enough to show a crack in the wall he’s built around himself.
Kazutora, his voice softer now, says, "You’re not the only ones who’ve been hurt, Izana-san, Kakucho-kun. But that’s not an excuse to shut everyone out."
There’s a weight to the words, an understanding that only comes after real loss. The room has shifted, the air lighter now, though still heavy with the aftermath of Takemichi’s absence.
Senju sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I get it. We’re all hurt. But we can’t just sit here wallowing in it. We have to keep going. For him. For us ."
Then someone slammed their palm against the table. It was Takeomi.
“This is ridiculous!” he slightly shouted. “Why aren’t you two doing anything?!” He looked at Izana and Kakucho. “You knew him best! He needed you!”
Kakucho didn’t even flinch. Izana didn’t move. Their silence wasn’t out of pride anymore—it was pure grief. Powerless. Muted.
Then Wakasa finally stood.
“Back off, Takeomi,” he said calmly, but with a strange edge in his voice. “You’re not helping.”
Takeomi narrowed his eyes. “How will you know?”
Wakasa didn’t answer at first. Instead, he looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke—but not to Takeomi.
“I know… I met him when he was just seven.”
The room went still.
“I remember Shinichiro brought him in like he was some stray cat he found outside. But he wasn’t scared. Hell, he walked right up to us and handed us homemade bento boxes. Seven years old, and he cooked like he was raised in a five-star kitchen. Said it was his way of thanking us for being Shin’s friends.”
A faint smile crossed his lips—but it was the kind that hurt.
“He was quiet, but sharp. Way too smart for his age. He could talk about Greek mythology and cherry blossoms like he was writing a thesis paper. But when I asked him about his parents, all he said was—‘I don’t know. My past is a blurry image.’”
Wakasa walked slowly to the center of the room, his voice softer now, more vulnerable.
“He used to play with Senju like an older brother, and when I struggled with school, he’d sit beside me and teach me. Taught me complex mathematics that even professionals struggle with. Hell, he basically homeschooled me through half my exam prep. I wouldn’t have passed without him.”
He chuckled under his breath, but there was a sharpness to it, like the sound of someone trying not to cry.
“That guy—he was so full of love. So full of light. He blushed when I patted his head. He got flustered when we praised him. But he was happy. And he made us happy, too.”
Wakasa’s soft expression darkened as he finally looked back at Izana and Kakucho.
“And now? That kid I used to know—the one who quoted cherry blossoms and smiled when you passed your exams—he didn’t even look back.”
Silence.
Not even a whisper.
It was Senju who finally muttered, “I didn’t know… he meant that much to you.”
Wakasa nodded slowly. “Yeah."
"He doesn’t need to be perfect. He’s perfect in the way he makes me feel. And I’ll never be tired of wanting him, of needing him, even if it consumes me.”
He turned toward Izana and Kakucho one more time.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel worse. I’m saying this because if we want him back… we have to remember who he was. Not just the fighter. Not just the pawn in someone’s plan. But the person who made bentos for strangers. Who believed in family even when he had none.”
…
“…He braided my hair once.”
Everyone turned to look at her.
Senju was sitting, eyes fixed on her fingers twisting together in her lap. Her usually confident, playful aura was gone—replaced with something smaller. Nostalgic. Fragile.
“I was crying,” she admitted. “Because Waka and Benkei kept leaving for meetings, and Takeomi yelled at me that day. I don’t even remember what it was about.”
She gave a sad little laugh.
“But Takemichi found me . I didn’t know who he was. Just some kid Shin brought over again. But he sat next to me on the porch and gave me a lollipop. He told me my hair looked pretty, but would look even cooler if I had braids like a warrior.”
Her voice cracked just slightly.
“He said warriors don’t cry unless they lose someone they love .”
The room stayed quiet.
“So I let him braid my hair. And then he told me stories—these weird, complicated ones with logic and philosophy and life—and by the time he was done, I stopped crying.”
She looked up, finally, her eyes glimmering.
“He didn’t act like a kid. He acted like a big brother. Not the kind who lectures you… But the kind who listens to your dumb problems and makes them feel important.”
Senju blinked hard. Once. Twice.
“…And when I found out he didn’t even have a sister, I asked if he wanted one. He smiled and said, ‘ Only if you’ll let me braid your hair again. ’”
She paused.
“I always said yes.” She smiled warmly, "Then... I thought at first it was just the kind of love siblings share, but before I knew it, it had become something entirely different—something that scared me to admit."
Her eyes flicked over to Izana and Kakucho.
“I get that you’re hurting. I do. But I don’t think Takemichi wanted us to give up on him. He never gave up on me. Or Waka. Or even you two. Not even once.”
Then she looked toward the door. The one he walked through without looking back.
“…So I won’t give up on him either. Even if he forgets how much we loved him—I’ll keep remembering for him.”
…
“…I want to say something,” Koko began.
Inui looked at him, but didn’t stop him. He knew what story was about to be told.
“We knew him, too,” Kokonoi said, glancing at the others. “But our story It began when we were kids, long before anything else… Keio Yochisha Elementary School, to be exact. We were all the same age, same class.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it was more hollow than fond.
“At first, I thought he was just some quiet transfer student. A huge nerd, always reading, always the guy who topped our exams. But then he started helping Inui with math… and helping me with science even though I never asked for it.”
He chuckled dryly.
“He was annoying. Kind. Persistent. And before we knew it… he was in our lives like he’d always been there .”
Inui added, “He got along with Akane, too. Sometimes too well.”
Kokonoi nodded, smile fading. “The three of them became inseparable. After class, lunch breaks, and even study nights. Akane loved him like a brother. Me and Inui—well… we started feeling something else .”
He inhaled sharply, then let the breath go. The next part was harder.
“It happened late at night. Inui and Akane’s house caught fire… and everything went to hell .”
His voice lowered, tight with memory.
“When I saw the giant smoke, I ran there without even thinking. I thought Akane was gone. But… when I arrived, I found out she was saved. Burned, but alive. The firefighters said some kid ran into the fire to pull her out before anyone got there.”
His fists clenched at his sides. “It was Takemichi . He didn’t say a word. Didn’t wait for help. Just ran in. And when they pulled him out… he was barely breathing.”
Everyone was quiet.
Kokonoi's voice cracked for the first time. “The burns were bad. His entire back, his arms… we were told he might not wake up. The bills for his treatment were insane.”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “No family to be reached out to. Hell, Inui’s parents so badly wanted to pay for the treatment to thank him for saving their daughter, but they couldn't . And I—”
He gritted his teeth.
“I tried everything. Gambling. Selling everything I had. Getting into shit I swore I’d never do again. Anything to get the money. I worked until my hands bled, did deals I knew were wrong. I kept thinking, ‘ Just one more million. Just one more day .’”
Inui looked down, jaw tight .
“But by the time I had enough... it was too late .”
Kokonoi’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They said he…” Breath hitched. His entire body was shaking, clearly from the trauma he had borne.
Because he thought. He thought he had lost a part of himself before. A life he fought so desperately to keep.
Inui patted his back, trying to help stabilize him. “–His body couldn't take the damage anymore, so his time was over. Or so, we thought.” He continued.
Koko’s hands trembled. “And now here he is. After all this time. Alive. Right in front of us.”
“What kind of life did he live,” Baji muttered from across the room, “to touch so many people like this… and still feel so alone?”
No one could answer.
But in that moment, everyone in the room felt it —
the echo of Takemichi’s quiet sadness,
and how devastatingly loud it had become.
Everyone is still processing the storm of truths crashing down one after another. Then Chifuyu spoke up.
His voice wasn’t loud—but it cut through everything like a thread through fabric.
“I didn’t have years with him like the rest of you did,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the sadness in his eyes. “But the time I had… was enough to know.”
Everyone turned to him.
Chifuyu glanced at the table, almost embarrassed, like the memories were too precious to say out loud. But he kept going.
“He never acted like a hero. Not once. He didn’t even believe he was brave. But I watched him stand up for others again and again. People twice his size, people who hated him—and he’d still jump in if it meant someone else didn’t have to hurt.”
He exhaled shakily, chuckling a little. “One time, I asked him why he always stood up when it clearly wasn’t his fight.”
There was a pause. Then Chifuyu whispered:
“He said, ‘If I don’t… who will? ’”
He looked up now, eyes misted but proud.
“Takemichi taught me more in a few months than most people do in a lifetime. About loyalty. About pain. About never giving up even when you’re breaking apart.” His voice was cracking. Heartbreaking.
“So yeah…” he added softly, “maybe I didn’t know him as long as the rest of you. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
And for a while… no one could speak.
Just as Izana inhaled—finally ready to speak, to unravel whatever storm was twisting inside him—the heavy silence of the meeting room was shattered.
Click .
The sound of polished shoes echoed sharply through the hallway just outside. The gang leaders turned, instincts on edge.
Then—
BAM !
The double doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a force that made some flinch.
And in walked two devils of the past.
“Yo,” Hanma grinned lazily, hands in his pockets, the ever-familiar glint of chaos dancing in his eyes.
Beside him, stepping in with a chilling calm, was Kisaki Tetta —tie neatly straightened, glasses glinting under the fluorescent light like knives.
“Long time no see,” Kisaki said, voice smooth as oil, “Looks like we missed one hell of a reunion.”
Everyone was on their feet in seconds.
Draken’s chair screeched back. Mitsuya’s fists clenched.
Even Izana and Kakucho froze, their voices dying before they could leave their throats.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mikey growled, his voice low, dangerous.
Kisaki just smirked.
“Oh, don’t be so tense. We’re not here to fight.”
Hanma’s laughter followed like a shadow. “We’re just here to talk. Catch up. You know… reminisce.”
He winked. “Heard Takemichi’s back.”
That name alone made the air drop ten degrees colder.
“You don’t get to say his name.” Baji snarled from across the room, stepping forward.
Kisaki raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely amused. “Still so emotional. Some things never change.”
“Enough,” Takeomi snapped. “Why now? Why show up here?”
Kisaki slid his hands behind his back, walking forward slowly like a professor about to give a lecture.
“Because,” he said, “we’ve all seen the ghost come back to life. But none of you asked why he came back like that.”
He turned his head slightly, eyes landing on Izana and Kakucho—then flicking toward Mikey.
“You’re all asking the wrong questions.”
Hanma grinned wider.
“And lucky for you… we’ve got answers.”
The air in the room was taut, like a thread stretched to its limit.
Mikey narrowed his eyes, his body unmoving but coiled tight like a wire.
“Cut the crap, Kisaki.” His voice was deadly quiet. “Say whatever you came here to say, or get out.”
Kisaki chuckled under his breath. “Still no manners. But fine.”
He took a slow step closer to the table, Hanma trailing just behind, hands stuffed in his pockets, casually observing the tension like it was a play put on just for him.
“We’ve been watching,” Kisaki began, his tone clipped, controlled. “The chaos. The fall. Takemichi’s return.”
His eyes scanned the room like a chessboard. “You all act shocked, heartbroken… as if you didn’t expect this. Like you didn’t see it coming.”
A murmur rippled across the room.
Kokonoi looked away, teeth clenched. Senju lowered her eyes. Even Izana’s fingers twitched.
Kisaki smirked, sharp and humorless. “That’s what makes all of this so… funny.”
Hanma leaned in just slightly. “You kept trying to save him,” he added lazily, “but none of you ever wondered who was saving him.”
The silence this time was heavier. It had weight. It dragged guilt to the surface like a corpse from the riverbed.
“Takemichi,” Kisaki said, voice suddenly low, “was broken long before South came. You just didn’t want to see it.”
Hanma let out a soft snicker, but there was no joy in it. “You treated him like a symbol. A savior. The guy who kept coming back for everyone else…”
He tilted his head.
“But did any of you ever go back for him?”
That line hit like a slap to the face.
Chifuyu flinched.
Baji’s eyes dropped to the floor.
Even Draken’s fists loosened.
Kisaki’s smile was faint, but laced with venom. “You built this story where Takemichi was always the one standing back up. Always the one bleeding for someone else. It made you feel safe. It made you feel like heroes.”
He paused, then turned toward Izana and Kakucho.
“But when he finally needed you—when he was falling apart and you two were the only ones he trusted…”
His gaze darkened.
“ You left .”
Kakucho visibly recoiled, face tightening.
Izana didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared ahead, jaw locked, a storm behind his violet eyes.
Hanma sighed dramatically and threw his arms up. “Ahhh, tragic. Could’ve had a nice storybook ending.”
Then, more quietly, “… if you just stayed .”
It was subtle.
But in that moment—in the smirk at the edge of Hanma’s lips, the flash of something like bitterness in Kisaki’s gaze—it was there.
Admiration .
Twisted. Distant. Maybe even selfish.
But it was real.
They respected what Takemichi had become.
The way he broke.
The way he burned.
The way he walked away without flinching.
The silence lingered, thick and unbearable—
until Izana laughed .
It was low, bitter. Not amused. Not mocking. Just… tired.
He leaned forward on the table, elbows resting, fingers loosely laced like he was trying to hold himself together.
“ You think we left him? ” His voice cut through the air like ice. “You think we just turned around and walked away?”
Kisaki arched an eyebrow, and Hanma tilted his head, curious.
Kakucho finally stood, the chair scraping behind him. “You weren’t there,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what it was like watching the one person you swore to protect lose pieces of himself every day.”
His fists trembled at his sides.
“You didn’t see him smile less. Eat less. Sleep less. You didn’t hear him say ‘I’m fine’ while bleeding on the goddamn floor.”
Draken flinched.
“So don’t stand there acting like we gave up. We didn’t give up,” Kakucho snapped. “We lost him. And we were too late to realize it.”
Izana stood next, slow and composed, but his eyes… they were shaking.
“I’ve been abandoned my whole life,” he said. “By my family. By this world. But I never cared. Because I had Takemichi.”
He looked around the room—at Toman, at Brahman, even at Kisaki.
“He wasn't just someone we wanted to protect. He was our home .”
A breath caught in Senju’s throat.
Kokonoi looked down, expression unreadable.
Izana’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“And now he's gone… because none of us knew how to fight for him before it was too late.”
Kakucho clenched his jaw, tears brimming in his eyes. “We tried. God, we tried . But South got there first.”
Then Izana looked at Kisaki, gaze sharp, voice laced with venom.
“You’re right. None of us came back for him. But don’t act like you would’ve done any better.”
Kisaki smirked, unfazed—but the flicker of guilt in his eyes betrayed him.
Baji was still, fists balled. The rest of the room sat frozen, the weight of the truth crashing down like a wave.
“We failed him.” Izana whispered it like a confession.
And no one had the strength to deny it.
Mikey leaned forward, eyes shadowed. “If he’s really gone,” he said, voice flat, “then why does it feel like he’s still screaming at us to follow?”
Kokonoi looked away.
Wakasa ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “Because he is. That kid never walked away from a fight… even when he was the one bleeding the most.”
Takeomi lit a cigarette. Exhaled smoke. “We have to bring him back.”
“What, by force?” Kisaki said, tone almost sarcastic—but it didn’t land. Because his voice was low. Troubled. Almost… worried.
Hanma glanced over, grinning half-heartedly. “The King’s in exile,” he murmured. “And we’re the fools trying to storm his castle.”
No one laughed.
“We’re not storming anything,” Kakucho said sharply. “We’re rebuilding what he lost.”
Izana’s gaze stayed glued to the table. “And if he doesn’t want us back?”
Mikey stood. And just like that, the air shifted.
He looked over the room. His gang. His friends. His family.
“Then we remind him who the hell we are.”
“We remind him that the boy who saved all of us—deserves to be saved, too.”
The tension was thick. Everyone still reeled from the storm of confessions, the silence of guilt. Izana and Kakucho looked like they were ready to speak again—until Kisaki shifted .
He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table, fingers laced together. The smirk that usually danced on his lips was nowhere to be found.
"I didn’t come here to pick a fight."
All eyes turned to him.
“I came because I owe him .” Kisaki’s voice was low, even. Devoid of his usual venom.
"I spent years… obsessing over him. Trying to surpass him. Ruin him. Win. And in the end?" He looked up, and for a moment—just a moment—his eyes looked tired. “He still came out on top. Not because he was stronger. Not smarter. But because he gave a damn when no one else did.”
Hanma looked at him sideways but didn’t interrupt.
Kisaki’s fingers tapped the table lightly. “I never admitted it back then, but… I admired him. The way he kept fighting. The way he broke for everyone else but never let himself shatter.”
“And now?” Draken asked, arms crossed.
Kisaki gave a wry chuckle, dry as dust. “Now, I’m just one of the many people he saved, whether he meant to or not.”
A pause.
“I didn’t come to hurt Takemichi. I came to bring him back.” He leaned back, exhaling deeply. “Even if it means working with the rest of you.”
Hanma tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. “Told ya he wasn’t the devil you all made him out to be.”
Izana’s eyes finally flicked up. Kakucho blinked in quiet disbelief.
“You want to help him now,” Kakucho said, voice flat. “After everything?”
Kisaki met his gaze directly.
“He’s the only person who ever looked at me and didn’t see a monster.”
“ I’m not gonna let him become one .”
The door slammed behind him. Heavy. Final.
Takemichi didn’t flinch.
The world outside—voices shouting his name, hands reaching, eyes pleading—was gone. Muted. Like an old movie he forgot he was ever part of.
Now, it was just him and South.
They walked in silence.
South didn’t ask if he was okay. Didn’t ask what happened.
Because he already knew.
“ You came back. ”
It wasn’t a question. South said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Takemichi’s eyes drifted toward him, dull and hollow. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
That earned him a low hum from South. Amused. Satisfied.
South stopped walking and turned to face him, towering with that usual chaotic swagger—but his expression? Calm. Like a storm that already passed.
“I knew it,” he said. “You’d remember. In the end, it’s always the ones who stay , not the ones who beg you to come back, that leave the real mark.”
Takemichi didn’t say anything.
South stepped closer, his voice lower now, a murmur meant only for Takemichi’s ears. “They all left you once, didn’t they? Izana. Kakucho. Even that dream of saving people. They all shattered when you were the one bleeding for them.”
Takemichi’s jaw clenched.
“Me?” South leaned in, eyes glinting. “I saw the real you. Not the weak little hero pretending to be strong. I saw the boy who learned that love gets you burned—and made him into a king.”
There was a moment of silence. Takemichi stared ahead, unblinking.
“…It hurts less when you feel nothing,” he finally muttered. “When I’m with you, it’s just… quiet.”
South smiled—not wide or wild, but knowing.
“That’s because pain doesn’t talk when you give it a crown.”
Takemichi didn’t smile back. But he didn’t cry either.
He just kept walking beside him.
Because right now, silence was better than remembering the sound of Izana’s voice shaking, or the look in Kakucho’s eyes breaking.
Because South didn’t expect him to be okay.
South expected him to survive .
“They left you in the dust without any remorse or warning.” He turned towards Takemichi, an even wider grin on his face.
“ It’s your turn to do the same .”
Voices had quieted. The adrenaline was long gone, replaced by a hollow kind of stillness. Everyone sat around the massive table—Toman, Tenjiku, Brahman. All three gangs, all leaders present… but no one said a word.
Until Draken leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “Wait a minute…”
“ Where the hell is… Shinichiro ? ”
The silence that followed was loud. Then, it clicked.
Kokonoi blinked. “He… didn’t come in with us?”
“No,” Senju said, slowly standing. “No, he didn’t. He was with Takemichi during the fight, right?”
“Yeah,” Mitsuya nodded, glancing around the room as if expecting him to suddenly materialize. “He was the one who walked in beside Takemichi.”
Takeomi's eyes widened. “That’s right. He came in with Takemichi and declared himself the enemy. Our enemy.”
“And then he attacked Wakasa.” Chifuyu’s voice was tight. “Like he didn’t even hesitate.”
Wakasa was silent, a dark shadow across his face.
Mikey stood, eyes stormy. “You fought him… tell us, Wakasa. What happened?”
Waka raised his eyes. “He looked at me like I was a stranger. Like we’d never shared a lifetime together. He fought like a man who didn’t believe in us anymore.”
“And then?” Baji asked, voice low.
“Then he stopped,” Wakasa muttered. “The moment South fell, the moment Takemichi collapsed… Shinichiro just disappeared .”
Takeomi’s fists tightened on the table. “Did he run?”
“No one saw him leave,” Kokonoi said, checking his phone for the hundredth time. “No calls. No messages. Nothing .”
“Like he was never there,” Inui added.
Mikey’s voice was a razor. “He was there. He stood with Takemichi. He fought Wakasa. And he told us— he told us —that he wasn’t on our side anymore.”
Kakucho, sitting stiffly near Izana, spoke for the first time. “What does that even mean? What side is he on, if not ours?”
Izana’s jaw was clenched, knuckles white. “He brought Takemichi into this. And now he’s turned his back on him too.”
A heavy silence.
Chifuyu murmured, “Shinichiro was always the reason people followed. The heart of Black Dragons, the one person we trusted. And now…”
Senju looked toward the door, as if expecting it to swing open.
“He didn’t even look back,” she whispered. “Not once. Not after everything.”
Takeomi’s gaze darkened. “Then we have to ask the question.”
“What question?” Draken asked.
“…What the hell is Shinichiro planning?”
Late night. An old warehouse tucked in the outskirts of Tokyo. Blueprints scattered. Folders. A single desk lamp on. Rain tapping gently against the windows. Silent. Still. Heavy with thought.
A man. Once a legend .
He stared at the flickering video on the dusty laptop screen.
Takemichi was laughing in it—young, carefree, dragging Waka by the arm toward a food stall, his voice muffled behind the poor-quality audio.
God. That laugh.
He reached out, slowly, pausing the frame. Takemichi’s smile frozen mid-tilt, sun catching in his hair.
He closed his eyes.
“I used to think I could save people by protecting them.”
He leaned back in the creaking chair, letting the quiet stretch.
“But all I did was turn kids into soldiers.”
He lit a cigarette, though he never smoked it. Just let it burn. Let it eat away like the guilt did.
Files were already open before him—one labeled Toman , another Tenjiku , another Brahman . One more—“ The King Game ”—lay untouched. Sealed with red wax. Inside were records only he had copies of. Statements. Evidence. The truth.
“These gangs were supposed to give them purpose. Belonging. A reason to live.”
He reached for a photo:
A young Mikey smiling beside Baji.
Draken with his hands in his pockets, scowling at the camera.
Takemichi… tucked right in the middle. Like he was meant to be there.
He traced his thumb over the boy’s face.
“But now everyone bleeds for a crown no one should’ve wanted.”
He stood, walking to the wall where a map was pinned with red threads crisscrossing major gangs, connecting names with dotted lines. South. Izana. Mikey. Kisaki. Takeomi. Waka. Takemichi.
His fingers landed on Takemichi’s thread.
He gave it a small tug.
“They don’t even realize it yet… but every one of them is waiting for someone to make this stop.”
He glanced back at the laptop.
Still paused on that smile.
He began sealing envelopes. Names written in ink:
Mikey
Takeomi
Wakasa
Kisaki
Izana
Kakucho
Draken
Takemichi — left blank, sealed with gold.
He slid them into a steel lockbox and tucked it beneath the floorboards. Then, he scribbled a note on torn paper and folded it neatly beside the box:
“Burn it all. Save him.”
He stood in the silence, facing the storm beyond the window.
He didn’t know what would be left after this.
He didn’t care if they hated him.
He didn’t need to be remembered.
“Let them call me traitor. Let them spit on my name.
But if Takemichi gets to walk this world without chains—
I’ll tear down every crown myself.”
And just like that, he turned off the lamp.
And vanished into the dark.
He… Shinichiro Sano —will take care of everything.