After their casual banter and laughter faded into the breeze, the boys stepped out, hoping to squeeze out a little more joy from the afternoon. The streets were alive with chatter, clinking shop shutters, and the fading orange of a settling sun. Yet amid all the energy and light, Kazutora remained oddly quiet, his golden eyes merely observing from behind the shadows of his thoughts.
He watched the others with detached curiosity, taking silent note of how each of them instinctively responded to Manjiro's lead. Every word Manjiro spoke, every gesture he made—even the slightest hint of a decision—seemed to ripple through the group like an unspoken command. Kazutora narrowed his eyes. What is this? he thought. They all just follow him like loyal pets. What's so special about him anyway? Selfish. That's all he is.
They walked into a restaurant, the clinking of dishes and smell of warm food embracing them. Everyone took a seat, and for a moment, it seemed like things would remain calm. Then—
"There's no flag in it!" Manjiro suddenly burst out, his face scrunched in childlike disappointment. "I don't want it!" His voice echoed sharply, making heads turn.
He stood up in frustration, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest. "I don't want to eat here if they can't even give me a flag with the kids' meal! I only got excited about it because of the flag!"
Everyone—Draken, Mitsuya, Pah and keisuke—sighed and stood up without hesitation, silently falling in line behind him.
Except Kazutora.
He remained seated, arms crossed, staring at Manjiro like he was some bizarre creature from another world. His expression hardened. "What... Why are you guys following him?" he asked, his tone laced with disbelief. "He's acting like a brat."
Draken turned to him, a frown forming. "What do you mean, Kazutora?"
Kazutora leaned back, shaking his head. "I mean... you all are like his underdogs. Just following his every childish whim. Don't you have a mind of your own?"
"Stop it, Kazutora," Keisuke said sharply.
"It's fine, Baji. Let him speak," Draken replied with a low voice. Then without another word, he and the others followed Manjiro out of the restaurant.
The room grew still. Kazutora sighed and looked away.
Thirty minutes later, Keisuke and Kazutora stepped out to roam the quietening streets. The wind had a bite to it now, and the street lights flickered on, casting long shadows across the pavement.
"I'll grab us some juice," Keisuke said, walking toward a vending machine.
Kazutora nodded absently and continued strolling, his mind lost in a fog. As he crossed the street, a sudden voice pierced through the buzz of the evening.
"Kazutora? Is that you?"
Kazutora froze.
A middle-aged man stood across the street, staring straight at him. His eyes were sharp, judgmental. Cold sweat formed at Kazutora's temples.
"You got a tattoo now?" the man scoffed, approaching him. "Roaming around with punks? That what you do these days?"
Kazutora said nothing. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was closing up. His feet refused to move. The weight of years past anchored him down.
The man suddenly grabbed his wrist. "Answer me!"
Panic exploded inside Kazutora like wildfire. His breath quickened. His vision blurred slightly.
"Let him go."
The voice was low and steady, but sharp like a knife. Manjiro.
He appeared from the distance like a sudden gust of wind. In a blur, he stood between Kazutora and the man and drove a hard kick into the man's stomach. The man doubled over, gasping.
"Who the hell are you?!" the man growled, still gripping his stomach.
Manjiro's eyes glinted with defiance. "Why should I answer you?"
Keisuke arrived just then, his eyes widening. "Mikey... that's Kazutora's Oto-san."
Manjiro's face remained unreadable. He said nothing and turned away, expression stone-cold.
Keisuke bent down beside the man. "I'm really sorry... on his behalf," he said quietly.
---
The next day, laughter echoed in the air.
"You seriously kicked Kazutora's dad, Mikey?" Draken asked, his voice half-disbelieving, half-amused.
"I thought he was a damn kidnapper!" Manjiro barked, irritated. "What was I supposed to do?!"
Everyone burst into laughter. Even Mitsuya wiped tears from his eyes.
Kazutora stood nearby, watching the group with quiet intensity.
He turned to Keisuke. "Hey… I think I'm better off on my own. But… thanks, Mikey. For stepping in yesterday. And I'm sorry... for how I acted."
"Kazutora…" Keisuke's voice trailed.
"I like being alone. Always have," Kazutora said softly. Then he turned and waved without looking back. "See ya."
---
The riverside hummed with silence. The wind toyed with the water, making it ripple softly as the sky deepened to dusk. Kazutora wandered, lost in thoughts he didn't want to face.
Then—voices. Familiar, taunting.
"Well, well. So this is the punk you were talking about?" sneered a man with slick hair, standing at the head of a gang of Black Dragon members.
Kazutora's body tensed. He took a step back instinctively. Too many of them. And the one in front—definitely their leader.
One by one, they lunged at him.
Kazutora fought hard. Fists, knees, dodges. He took many down, but fatigue crept in quickly. Numbers overwhelmed him. The street turned blurry. Blood dripped from his lip. A fist hit his stomach. Then darkness.
---
When he opened his eyes again, the sun was a red smear on the horizon.
"Oh, you're awake," Keisuke said with a smile of relief.
Kazutora blinked groggily. "What happened? Where are they?"
Keisuke pointed to a figure standing atop the gang leader like a victorious king. Around him, Black Dragon members lay sprawled, unconscious.
"Mikey," Keisuke said. "He defeated them. All of them."
Kazutora sat up, disbelief flooding his features. "Alone?!"
Manjiro approached, brushing dust from his hands.
"Baji called me when he saw you getting ambushed," he said.
Kazutora stared at him, struggling to find words.
Manjiro knelt before him. "Kazutora," he said gently. "You belong to me. That means your pain, your sufferings, your fights… they belong to me too."
He extended his hand.
Kazutora looked at it, then at Manjiro's face—genuine, calm, warm.
He took the hand.
A smile formed.
From that day on, Kazutora knew—he had found something more than loyalty.
He had found home.
Later that evening, the boys walked the city streets again—together this time, laughter echoing into the night like an unbroken promise.