#majiro

The lot is so loud it feels alive.

Bets are still being shouted. Shoes scrape over broken concrete. Cigarette smoke hangs low in the hot afternoon air, mixing with sweat, dust, and the metallic tang of old blood. Boys crowd the ring in a rough circle, elbow to elbow, all waiting for entertainment.

And right in the middle of it, your idiot brother has just challenged Kiyomasa.

You stand half a step behind Takemichi, baseball cap pulled low over your freshly cut hair, your undercut cool against the back of your neck. The long top of your tomboy cut falls in a rough middle part beneath the cap, shadowing your blue-gray eyes just enough to help sell the lie. Your loose shirt flattens your chest. The pants Takemichi gave you hang low and straight. As long as no one looks too closely, it exists.

As long as no one looks too closely, Y/N disappears.

Kiyomasa rolls his shoulders and grins like he’s been handed a toy.

“You again?” he says, voice dripping amusement. “Did yesterday scramble your brain?”

Takemichi’s fists are up, though he’s already battered from the day before. His blond hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. One cheek is still swollen. He looks terrified.

He also doesn’t back down.

“I said I’ll fight you,” he says.

The circle around you both erupts.

Akkun curses under his breath. Makoto outright gapes. Takuya goes pale. Yamagishi starts muttering at machine-gun speed about how this is strategically suicidal.

You keep your eyes on Kiyomasa.

He cracks his neck left, then right. “Fine. Don’t cry when you regret it.”

The match starts with no ceremony.

Kiyomasa drives his fist straight into Takemichi’s stomach.

The sound that leaves your brother isn’t even a shout. It’s all the air getting ripped out of him at once. He folds hard, stumbling forward, and you feel your own body jolt with the hit as if you took it too.

The difference in strength is obvious immediately.

It is a child trying to stop a wrecking ball.

Kiyomasa knees him next, then slams a kick into his chin. Takemichi stumbles backward, almost loses his footing, barely manages to stay upright. The crowd goes wild.

“Finish him!”

“Hanagaki’s dead!”

“This is pathetic!”

You clench your jaw so hard it hurts.

Kiyomasa keeps going. Hook to the face. Elbow. Knee. A brutal side kick that sends Takemichi reeling into the dirt. The jeering grows louder with every hit. Boys are laughing, shouting odds, hollering like this is the best show they’ve seen all week.

Takuya takes a step forward on instinct, but Akkun catches him.

“Michi!” you shout.

Takemichi spits blood onto the ground and pushes himself back up.

“Not yet,” he mumbles.

Kiyomasa pauses.

So does the crowd.

He heard it.

You heard it too.

Not yet.

Kiyomasa’s smile fades into something flatter, meaner. He flicks his cigarette away. “What was that?”

Takemichi sways where he stands. One eye is already swelling half shut. But he lifts his head and says it again.

“Not yet.”

The next blow snaps his head to the side.

You move before you think.

Kiyomasa has just drawn his arm back for another hit when you shove between them and drive your fist into his ribs. It is not a great punch. You know that the second it lands. He barely grunts.

His eyes slide to you.

Annoyed.

Then his mouth twists. “So the brother wants in too?”

Before he can swing at you, you lash out on pure instinct and drive your foot hard between his legs.

The entire lot freezes.

Kiyomasa makes a strangled, hideous noise and doubles over.

For one glorious, impossible second, silence drops over the crowd.

Then half the boys recoil in horror and the other half howl.

“No way!”

“He kicked him in the balls!”

“That’s dirty!”

“That was amazing!”

You plant yourself in front of Takemichi while Kiyomasa staggers, one hand braced on his knee, murderous fury radiating off him in waves.

“You are not touching my brother,” y/n says, your voice low and shaking with adrenaline.

Kiyomasa lifts his head slowly.

There is no humor left in his face now.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m touching both of you.”

He lunges.

You get one more second of success, and then reality catches up. His backhand catches you across the face hard enough to send your cap flying. The world flashes white. You hit the dirt on one knee, taste blood, snatch the cap back before anyone can get too good a look at your hair.

Takemichi throws himself forward at the same time, grabbing at Kiyomasa’s arm, and the fight turns ugly all at once.

Kiyomasa hammers him down.

Takemichi gets back up.

You go in from the side, trying to drag your brother clear. Kiyomasa elbows you away. You slam into the ground, shoulder screaming. Takemichi staggers in again and gets punched so hard you hear the impact over the crowd.

Still he stays standing.

You have never seen anything like it.

Not from him.

Not from the boy who ran.

Not from the twin who spent twelve years telling himself he was weak.

Kiyomasa hits him again.

Takemichi spits blood again.

“Give up already!” somebody yells.

Akkun’s voice cuts through all the rest. “Michi, stop! That’s enough!”

Takemichi’s breathing is ragged. You can hear it even over the noise. But when Kiyomasa grabs his collar and jerks him close, your brother just stares back through one swelling eye and whispers, “I can’t.”

Kiyomasa snarls and knees him in the gut.

“Why not?”

Takemichi folds, coughs, then forces himself straight again.

Because this is not about winning.

You realize that before Kiyomasa does.

This is Takemichi refusing to kneel.

This is him dragging his own dignity back out of the dirt one bloody inch at a time.

He is not strong. He is not fast. He is getting brutalized so badly your stomach keeps trying to turn inside out.

But he is not yielding.

And little by little, the mood in the lot changes.

The laughter dulls.

The jeering gets thinner.

Even the boys who were making bets start to stare instead of shout.

Kiyomasa feels it too.

You can see the moment it gets under his skin.

He hits Takemichi harder, faster, uglier, as if enough force can put the crowd back on his side. Takemichi’s head jerks. His knees buckle. He should be unconscious by now. He should be down.

Instead, he drags in one ragged breath and says again, “Not yet.”

You look over your shoulder and catch Akkun at the edge of the ring.

His hand is inside his jacket.

Your blood goes cold.

A knife.

For one breathless second, you understand everything all at once. If Takemichi had not stood up today, Akkun would have crossed a line none of you could come back from. Slavery under Kiyomasa was crushing your whole group into a shape you were never meant to fit. Fear was turning your best friend into someone desperate enough to kill.

Akkun sees what you see and slowly freezes.

Because the crowd is not cheering for Kiyomasa anymore.

They are watching Takemichi.

Watching the loser who won’t stay down.

Kiyomasa finally loses it.

“Why won’t you fall?” he shouts.

Takemichi spits blood at his feet.

“If you want me to lose,” he rasps, “then kill me.”

The lot goes dead quiet.

You feel the words all the way down your spine.

Kiyomasa’s face contorts.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Bring me the bat.”

Gasps break across the ring. Even some of his own boys hesitate.

This was supposed to be a fistfight.

A match.

A show.

Not this.

One of Kiyomasa’s lackeys runs for the bat anyway, because cowards still obey stronger cowards.

You push yourself back in front of Takemichi despite your throbbing shoulder. He grabs your sleeve weakly.

“N-n/n…”

“Don’t,” you hiss, not taking your eyes off Kiyomasa.

The bat is halfway to Kiyomasa’s hand when a new voice cuts through the lot.

“That’s enough. You’re making everyone look bad.”

The authority in it is immediate and absolute.

Every head turns.

Two figures stand at the opening in the crowd.

The taller one looks like a storm in human form—broad, imposing, with a shaved undercut, a braid trailing down, and a dragon tattoo curling up the side of his head. His expression is all sharp angles and lethal annoyance.

Draken.

Ken Ryuguji.

Vice Commander of Toman.

Behind him is a much smaller boy with soft blond hair and a bored expression, holding an empty package of dorayaki like he’s mildly offended by the universe.

Mikey.

Manjiro Sano.

Commander of Toman.

And the moment the crowd recognizes him, the entire lot shifts.

Boys bow.

Voices trip over each other.

“Mikey!”

“Draken!”

“Commander!”

One of Kiyomasa’s guys hurries forward with a sweating grin, ready to grovel, but Mikey walks right past him without the slightest glance. Draken does not bother hiding his contempt.

“Mikey only talks to people he cares about,” he says flatly.

Mikey, meanwhile, is peering at the empty wrapper in his hand.

“Ken-chin,” he says, “I’m out of dorayaki.”

You would laugh if the whole situation were not so surreal.

Takemichi sags half against you, half on his own feet, both of you staring.

So this is him.

This is the boy Naoto built files around.

This is the name that grows into a future full of corpses.

He looks… young.

Too young.

Kiyomasa straightens in a panic and bows. It is not deep enough.

Draken kicks him in the stomach so hard he folds.

“Bow lower,” Draken says. “You’re not somebody important.”

The ring parts. Mikey steps inside like he owns the air itself.

He does.

He walks straight past Kiyomasa.

Straight past the back.

Straight up to Takemichi.

Your brother, after getting pulped for what feels like an hour, still somehow manages to jolt in confusion when Mikey crouches down and peers right into his face.

“What’s your name?” Mikey asks.

Takemichi swallows. “Takemichi Hanagaki.”

Mikey blinks once.

Then he smiles, small and easy, like he just found something interesting in a junk pile.

“Takemitchy.”

Takemichi stares. “Huh?”

“Takemitchy,” Mikey repeats, pleased with himself. “You’re really in middle school?”

Draken folds his arms. “He is.”

Mikey nods once as if that settles an internal debate only he was having. Then his attention slides to you.

You have your cap back on now, brim low, but he notices you anyway. Of course he does.

“And you?”

For a second, your mouth goes dry.

This is the line.

The beginning of the lie becoming real.

You straighten despite the ache in your body. “Y- B/N Hanagaki… I’m Takemichi’s twin.”

Draken’s brow lifts.

Mikey tilts his head.

“Twins?” he echoes.

Your heart kicks. But you nod.

“We’re twins,” you say, looking up at Mikey.

He studies the two of you. Your eyes. Your faces. Takemichi’s blond hair, your h/c hair hidden under the cap, similar features twisted by different bruises.

Then Mikey grins.

“Takemitchy and…” He squints at you like he’s trying to remember. “N/M.”

You blink. “It’s b/n.”

“N/M,” Mikey says again, satisfied.

Draken snorts.

Something about the absurdity of it almost breaks the tension in your chest. “That’s not even close.”

Mikey points at you. “It is now.”

And just like that, the name sticks.

He rises and says, as casually as if he’s commenting on the weather, “Starting today, Takemitchy and N/M are my friends.”

The lot goes silent all over again.

Kiyomasa looks like he might throw up.

Takemichi looks like he would prefer to.

You just stand there, dazed, because after all the impossible things that have happened since shaking Naoto’s hand, this might still be the strangest.

Mikey turns to Kiyomasa.

“You run this?” he asks.

Kiyomasa nods too quickly. “Y-yes.”

Mikey’s face goes blank.

Then he kicks Kiyomasa so hard in the face that the bigger boy flies backward.

The rest happens in a blur.

A second kick.

A punch.

Kiyomasa drops like someone cut all his strings.

Mikey stands over him, expression cool and disgusted. “Fight clubs are lame.”

Draken’s gaze sweeps the ring, making boys flinch away from it. “Don’t drag Toman’s name through the mud with garbage like this.”

The command in his voice leaves no room for argument.

Then, just as abruptly as they came, the two of them start to leave.

Mikey glances back over his shoulder at you and Takemichi.

“Later, Takemitchy. Later, N/M.”

“It’s not—” you start.

He waves without turning around.

Draken does not hide his amusement this time.

When they’re gone, the whole lot exhales.

Nobody looks at Kiyomasa anymore.

Nobody looks at Takemichi like he’s a slave either.

By the time the crowd starts to break apart, everyone’s whispering the same thing.

Mikey called them friends.

You get Takemichi sitting against a wall before his legs give out on him completely. The Mizo boys swarm in a messy, frantic cluster.

“That was insane!”

“You’re alive?”

“He called you Takemitchy!”

“And you N/M!”

“That’s not my name,” you mutter.

Akkun crouches in front of Takemichi, eyes too bright. “Michi… you idiot.”

Takemichi gives a weak laugh that turns into a cough. “Yeah.”

Akkun looks away for a second, jaw tight. When he speaks again, his voice is lower.

“I was gonna stab him.”

The group goes still.

You had guessed, but hearing it aloud still lands heavy.

Akkun curls his fingers into his knees. “I thought if we didn’t do something, we’d stay like this forever. So I went to get a knife.” His gaze lifts to Takemichi. “But then you kept standing up. And everyone stopped cheering for Kiyomasa.”

His throat works.

“You changed it.”

Takemichi’s expression cracks a little. “I didn’t do anything that cool.”

“You did,” you say quietly.

Akkun laughs once, shaky. “Yeah. You did.”

No one jokes after that, not for a moment.

Then Makoto, because he physically cannot handle sincerity for too long, straightens up and starts doing an exaggerated Mikey impression.

“Takemitchy!”

Yamagishi immediately joins in. “N/M!”

“That still sucks,” you say, and the whole group breaks into tired, almost hysterical laughter.

For the first time since coming back, it feels like maybe the past can be changed after all.

The next morning hurts.

Everything hurts.

Your face is tender where Kiyomasa backhanded you. Your shoulder aches. Your shin still feels the impact of kicking him. Takemichi looks worse. He looks like he got run over and then argued with the truck.

The two of you walk to school anyway.

Hinata appears at the corner like sunrise in human form.

“Michi!”

She hurries over, then slows when she sees the bruises all over both of you. Her brows pull together immediately. “You two got into another fight?”

“Technically,” Takemichi says weakly, “I got into one fight. It just lasted forever.”

Hina huffs. “You’re impossible.”

Then she brightens, just a little. “I have cram school later, but before that… do you want to go on a date?”

Takemichi forgets how to function.

You watch your brother go red all the way up to his ears and almost rescue him, but it is too funny.

“A date?” he echoes.

“Yes.” Hina looks delighted by his panic. “Unless you’re scared?”

He straightens instantly. “I’m not scared!”

“Good.” She smiles. “Then after school.”

You drift half a step away to give them space, but Hina’s eyes flick to you, narrowing slightly.

You feel it at once.

Too sharp.

Too curious.

When you and Takemichi part ways for class, you feel her gaze on your back.

And sure enough, a little later, when you’re at the lockers adjusting your cap and checking that your shirt still sits right, someone catches your wrist and yanks you into the narrow blind spot between locker rows.

You react on instinct, hand flying up to cover the person’s mouth.

Wide brown eyes stare back at you.

Hina.

She has already recognized you.

Worse, in her shock, she has bitten—no, licked—your palm because your hand was over her mouth.

You jerk your hand back with a horrified whisper. “What is wrong with you?”

Hina’s eyes go even wider.

You slap your hand back over her mouth before she can scream.

“Shh. Yes it is me, Hina. Keep your voice down,” you whisper fiercely.

Her whole body vibrates with contained disbelief.

“You can’t tell anyone, okay? The truth is I worry about my brother and I decided to cut my hair short and dressed like a boy. Only my brother and the boys know that it’s me. When we’re out and in front of everyone, you call me b/n, okay? Now don’t scream or freak out when I remove my hand from your mouth and please don’t lick my hand again.”

Hina blinks once.

Twice.

Then nods as much as your hand allows.

You slowly let go.

She inhales sharply, then grabs your shoulders and whispers, “Y/N?!”

You wince. “Volume.”

She clamps both hands over her own mouth, then lowers them with visible effort. “You cut all your hair off!”

“Yes.”

“You look like a boy!”

“That was the point.”

“You really worried me! I thought Takemichi had another delinquent brother hidden somewhere!”

You deadpan. “He can barely survive the sibling he already has.”

That almost makes her laugh.

Then her face softens. “You did this for him.”

You look away for a second. “Partly.”

“And the other part?”

“To get close enough to Toman to actually do something.”

Hina studies you in a way that feels older than middle school, older than this whole stupid impossible loop of time. Then she nods once.

“Okay,” she says. “I won’t tell.”

You relax by inches.

She points a warning finger at you. “But if you get hurt because of this, I’m yelling at both of you.”

“That’s fair.”

“And I’m still not sorry about the hand thing.”

“You should be.”

She grins.

The bell rings.

By lunch, half the school is buzzing.

At first it’s just noise from the hall. Raised voices. Feet running. The sort of commotion that makes every student sit a little straighter and pretend not to be interested while absolutely being interested.

Then your classroom door slams open.

Mikey stands there like he belongs in every room he enters.

Draken looms behind him.

Every student in class freezes.

Takemichi makes a choking noise.

You stand so fast your chair scrapes.

“Mikey! Draken! What the fuck are you doing here at our school?” you say in shock.

Several classmates gasp at your language.

Draken looks mildly impressed. “Got a mouth on you, N/M.”

“It’s b/n,” you say automatically.

Mikey points at you, delighted. “See? N/M likes me.”

“I said nothing like that.”

Takemichi looks between all of you like he’s one wrong word away from fainting.

Mikey jerks his thumb toward the hall. “Come hang out.”

“During class?” Takemichi squeaks.

“Yes,” Mikey says, as if that should be obvious.

Draken adds, “We already handled the guys who got in the way.”

That sentence explains the groans in the corridor.

You step out with Takemichi and stare.

A bunch of third-years are sprawled on the floor in various states of defeat.

Your jaw drops.

Takemichi’s too.

Draken nudges one with his shoe. “Line up on your stomachs.”

They do.

He and Mikey walk over them like they’re crossing stepping stones.

Your school watches in total disbelief.

“Are they insane?” you whisper.

“Yes,” Takemichi whispers back.

Mikey glances at the two of you. “Let’s go.”

Takemichi hesitates.

This is what Naoto wanted, isn’t it? Get close to Mikey. Stay near him. Stop him from meeting Kisaki somehow.

You can almost see the thought moving behind Takemichi’s bruised face.

Then a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

“Takemichi!”

Hina storms down the hallway, sees Mikey gripping your brother’s attention, and immediately misreads the entire scene.

She slaps Mikey.

The crack echoes.

Every person in the hall stops breathing.

You close your eyes for one full second. Of course she did.

Mikey turns his head back slowly.

Hina grabs Takemichi’s hand. “Come on. You don’t have to go with them just because they scare everyone.”

Draken steps forward and catches her wrist.

The temperature in the hall seems to drop.

You move instantly, but Takemichi is faster.

He grabs Draken’s arm.

“Let her go.”

Draken looks down at him.

Takemichi is shaking. You can see it from where you stand. Hina is shaking too. But neither of them backs down.

“If you’re really his friends,” Hina says, glaring right at Mikey now, “you don’t drag him around by force. And if you’re the reason he’s covered in bruises lately, I’ll stop you myself.”

The hallway might as well be a graveyard.

Nobody talks to Toman like that.

Nobody slaps Mikey and keeps standing.

You take one step closer, ready to throw yourself into the worst fight of your life if this turns ugly.

Takemichi tightens his grip on Draken’s arm. “I won’t give this up again.”

Something flickers in Draken’s expression.

Mikey tilts his head. “Too bad. I thought we could be friends.” He steps forward. “How do you want to die, Takemitchy?”

Takemichi doesn’t move.

“Promise me,” he says, voice rough, “you won’t touch Hina.”

Mikey raises his hand.

Half the girls in the hallway flinched.

Hina stiffens.

You set your feet.

And then Mikey stops his fist inches short and snorts.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “I’d never hit a girl.”

The collective exhale from the hall is almost violent.

Draken lets go of Hina’s wrist. “You’ve got nerve,” he tells Takemichi. “Threatening us like that.”

Takemichi blinks. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Draken says. “It’s fine.”

Hina, still rattled but stubborn, bows a little. “Sorry for hitting you.”

Mikey rubs his cheek and shrugs. “It’s okay. Standing up for your boyfriend is cool. Just don’t overdo it.”

Takemichi combusts on the spot. “B-boyfriend?!”

Hina smiles sweetly at him and ignores that.

Then, because she is somehow the bravest person in the hall, she turns to you too.

“And b/n, stop hanging around criminals during school hours.”

You cough to hide a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

Only you catch the tiny glint in her eyes that says she is very aware of exactly who she is bossing around.

When she leaves, Takemichi turns to ask about their date, only for Hina to wave it off.

“Another day,” she says. “Your friends came to get you.”

Mikey points at Takemichi. “Treat her right, Takemitchy.”

Then he points at you. “And you too, N/M.”

“Still wrong,” you mutter.

Somehow, despite all logic, you end up spending the afternoon riding with the two most dangerous middle school delinquents in Tokyo.

Mikey pedals lazily, somehow still looking completely relaxed. Draken rides with easy control, one eye always on the street, the other on Mikey. You and Takemichi follow.

The city feels different from a bike.

Looser. Wider. Summer wind moves through the longer top of your cut where it escapes your cap, and for a little while, if you ignore the gang jackets and the violence and the future pressing on your ribs, it almost feels like being a normal middle schooler.

Almost.

They stop at the riverside.

The water glints dull gold under the lowering sun. Cicadas scream from the trees. All four of you leave your bikes in the grass and drift toward the embankment.

Takemichi has been stealing glances at Mikey the whole ride.

You know why.

This boy does not fit the future Naoto described.

Finally Takemichi blurts, “Why do you even like me?”

You wince. “Subtle.”

Mikey looks over, then laughs under his breath. “That’s a stupid question.”

Takemichi flushes. “S-sorry.”

Mikey stretches his arms behind his head and looks out at the river. “You remind me of my brother.”

The joke dies out of all of you instantly.

“My older brother,” Mikey says. “He was ten years older. Reckless. Picked fights with guys way stronger than him. Never quit even when he looked stupid.”

Draken’s expression softens just a little.

Mikey smiles, but there is grief tucked under it. “He died.”

The breeze shifts.

Nobody interrupts.

Mikey keeps looking at the water. “People say delinquents are lame now. But back when my brother was around, there were biker gangs everywhere. Fights too. Guys who acted big. But they cleaned up their own messes. They had pride.” His eyes sharpen. “That wasn’t lame.”

You glance at Takemichi. He is listening like his life depends on it.

Maybe it does.

Mikey turns back to the two of you. “I’m gonna make a new era for delinquents.”

Draken leans against his bike. “There are lots of strong fighters in the world. Not many idiots who’ll keep standing because of something they refuse to give up.”

Mikey points at Takemichi first. Then at you. “So come with us, Takemitchy. N/M.”

You groan softly. “I’m never escaping that, am I?”

“Nope,” Mikey says.

Takemichi laughs a little, bruised and disbelieving and still somehow lighter than he was yesterday.

You look at Mikey again.

At the easy grin. At the way Draken watches him without watching. At the careless confidence and the strange sincerity underneath it. This boy does not look like someone who would kill Hinata. He does not even look like someone who would order it.

And that frightens you more than if he did.

Because it means something happens.

Something turns him.

Something rots Toman from inside.

When Mikey and Draken finally ride off, they leave you and Takemichi standing by the river with the evening wind moving around you.

Takemichi watches them go for a long time.

Then he says quietly, “He’s not what I expected.”

“No,” you answer. “He isn’t.”

“Do you think Naoto got it wrong?”

You think of police files. Of the future. Of Hinata dying again and again at the edge of your memory.

“No,” you say at last. “I think we just don’t know the whole story yet.”

The sun is lower by the time you start walking home.

Takemichi is lost in thought beside you, probably building plans out of panic and determination in equal measure. You keep scanning the street out of habit now, shoulders tight whenever groups of delinquents pass.

At one intersection, a cluster of boys walks by in the opposite direction.

You would have ignored them—

except one of them turns just slightly.

Glasses.

A composed face.

Eyes too cold for someone this young.

Something in you goes still.

Takemichi slows too, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I know him,” he says, more to himself than to you.

The boy looks your way only once.

Then he keeps walking.

The hairs rise on the back of your neck under the shaved fade of your cut.

Because even without Naoto’s files, even without a name, some instincts are immediate.

That boy is wrong.

You dramatically leaned on Chifuyu who startled at the sudden action, blushing red. “Young love,” you whimper pathetically as the boy tenses even more. “I really am getting too old for this.”

“Don’t say that, Y/n-san,” he laughs. “You’re still quite young, you know.”

“This is why you’re my favorite. If I said that to Keisuke, he would have called me an old hag no matter my age,” you snort, stretching your arms above your head as Toman continues fooling around on the lazy afternoon they share.

You stop, realizing your words and glancing at Chifuyu who had gotten a little gloomy at the mention of a single name.

Soulmates aren’t always lovers.

You have seen it on Chifuyu and Keisuke. The way Chifuyu trusted Keisuke so much even without him saying anything. The way Keisuke turned Chifuyu upside down and how Chifuyu changed because of him.

You had seen it on Mikey and Draken. The support and the way they always catch each other when they fall. Looking for each other and knowing each other better than they know themselves.

You have seen it on Yuzuha and Hakkai. The unconditional love the two had, having each other’s backs no matter what and having each other even if the world turned its back on them. Even if their own brother turned his back on them.

You have seen it on you and Shinichiro. Kindred souls. Soulmates.

And there isn’t only one. There could be even as many as five. Just like how Draken and Mikey are soulmates, Ken and Emma are as well.

You’ve seen it and it was proved to be true as Draken loses himself, standing in front of the corpse of his beloved, of his almost.

You close your eyes. Count one, two, and three, three, two, and one. Again and again, just repeating the numbers, just focusing on breathing because you fear that you’ll drown if you stop now.

Shinichiro, Keisuke, and now Emma?

Why do you have to lose so many people? So many souls that only deserved the world. The world that you wanted to give them no matter what. And yet- Still, again and again, they kept on slipping out of your grasp like falling water in a dark morning.

Takemichi was walking away after exchanging some words with Hina, smile strained but not hopeless, never hopeless—he wouldn’t be Takemichi if he had lost hope. The same Takemichi that reminded you so much of your soulmate, your one and only, your brother, your best friend, your partner, your other half. Sano Shinichiro.

You can’t lose him as well.

Giving the desolate Mikey one last glance, you turn and follow after Takemichi.

You can’t lose Takemichi. Mikey can’t lose Takemichi. It’s the least you could do.

You repeat those words as you stand in the middle of that battlefield, pulling Takemichi away before he could get knocked down by a member of Tenjiku. The Toman uniform still fits you perfectly as you hadn’t grown a single inch these past few years. The same uniform that Mitsuya jokingly made once upon a time.

You felt as if you were back in middle school. Getting into little nonsensical fights before being properly introduced to Black Dragons. Looking up to your senpai, Shinichiro, who later became your greatest friend and family. 

“Michi, go and get Kisaki,” you say, barely above a whisper, feeling so numb and not minding that someone had managed to punch you straight onto the face and that your nose was bleeding.

The blond gives you a look, wide blue eyes drowning in worry but you only push him away, away from Kurokawa Izana that was staring at you. Those violet eyes shine almost menacingly, an underlying recollection shimmering behind the loathe.

You could almost remember him.

Shinichiro’s suspicious actions, always disappearing on random days of the week to go to another part of Tokyo without telling any of you. The mention of another sibling though never confirmed. The smile he always wore when he came back home after having another one of his disappearing acts.

And his funeral.

At the very back, hidden behind the crowd and under the hood of a tree, was a young light blond with the brightest of violet eyes, twinkling with unshed tears. A glimpse from years ago and yet the memory remained fresh in your mind as if it was yesterday, as if the moment had lasted longer than simply a moment.

The same boy was standing in front of you.

“You’re Y/n huh…”

You give him a bitter smile, shoulders loosening despite the situation and the people fighting around you. Izana remained untouched by everyone while you consistently tipped here and there to avoid getting dragged into the fight that was swallowing everyone like a whirlpool. “Did Shin talk about me?”

He pursed his lips, his response coming into the form of a punch you could have barely dodged. Just from the look of it, you knew that you would get knocked out if that had met your skin.

To think that Tenjiku’s King had come down from his throne just to meet you. How honorable.

You gazed at those eyes again, still avoiding his hits. Blank. They were so blank. Almost lifeless, like a void. Almost like Mikey’s. Just like Mikey’s. And you were hit with regret and guilt. You were supposed to be there for him as well.

Shinichiro took care of Izana, that enough was obvious. But he took care of Mikey and Emma as well. You only watched over two of those people. You wondered with the clench of your heart, was Izana hoping that someone would be there for him just like how Shinichiro once was before his passing? Was he waiting for you?

He was your responsibility as well, to an extension. And you had disappointed him by not minding his existence, acting as if Shinichiro hadn’t dropped the million little clues.

His fist met the side of your face and you stumbled back, an explosion of pain and a cacophony of distorted sounds as your sight went black for a few seconds. You coughed, trying to catch your breath as he pulled back, leaning on his foot. You knew that it would have done more damage if he had kicked you instead, there was a clear difference in his upper and lower body strength.

The pain was new and yet familiar, from a time so long ago, more than a decade prior. On your fist were old scars, already light and fading.

I’m getting too old for this, you used to joke. What were you doing, fighting high schoolers? High schoolers larger than you, better than you. Children. Children that you should have protected. Your responsibility.

You opened your eyes and met his gaze head on, with a silent challenge and your arms raised in a defensive position you knew that you didn’t mean (you knew that wouldn’t last because you would have let him beat you up as consolation). Come at me.

Consolation. For not being there when you were supposed to be. When you were the only one left after Shinichiro. Even if you didn’t know each other, you knew Shinichiro and that was enough. If you could do it for Mikey and Emma, you could have done it for Izana as well.

Consolation. That was what you thought when you stood in front of Izana, saving not only him but his only friend, Kakucho, as well.

For Manjiro, for Izana, for Emma... for Shinichiro.