Without any prior warning, he appeared at your doorstep. Rain poured relentlessly, drenching his hair and clothing, the droplets trailing down his face like unspoken sorrows. His ordinarily mundane eyes, so often unreadable, now seemed disturbingly hollow—void of their usual light.

You guided him to the couch, concern knitting your brow as you sought to understand his distress. Yet before you could utter a question, he sank to his knees, resting his head against your lap. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke your name, the syllables heavy with unspoken grief. “{{user}}…”

Had he become a monster of his own making? The weight of his choices bore down on him, a suffocating burden that only grew as the conflicts within the gang escalated. He had nearly lost Draken, Baji, Pah-chin—and he had lost Emma. With each passing day, the darkness within him deepened, its grip tightening.

Perhaps he had been too merciful. Perhaps, had he been more ruthless, his comrades would have been stronger, their fates different. If only he had not lost Shinichiro, perhaps this abyss would never have consumed him.

Was ruthlessness not a cruelty, but a mercy—one that spared a person from drowning in their own regrets?