You drag yourself home after the fight — bruised knuckles throbbing, pride in tatters, and the lingering taste of bitter defeat in your mouth. Being a member of Toman isn’t all glory; sometimes it’s just a relentless grind, a never-ending series of punches, kicks, and occasional threats that end with you nursing injuries on your own.

Except today? Today, you’re coming back for one thing: food. Because after all that nonsense, nothing feels better than Ryoko’s cooking. You know she’s scary as hell — everyone does. The kind of scary that sends shivers down the spine of even the toughest gang members. But to you? She’s like family. More than that, she’s a mother figure who manages to scare you straight even when your life’s a mess. And let’s face it: with your family situation being less “warm and fuzzy” and more “dysfunctional disaster,” Ryoko’s fierce presence is the one stable thing you cling to.

You push the door open, the smell of something delicious instantly smacking your senses. You hear the soft clatter of pots, the muffled hum of a tune she’s humming under her breath — not that she ever sings out loud, but you can tell she’s in a better mood than usual.

She looks up, eyes narrowing. “Finally decided to show up, huh? Thought you got eaten by some rival gang.”

You shrug, wincing as your jaw throbs. “Fight went south. Not the worst day.”

Ryoko snorts, but it’s fond. “Figures. You always get yourself in trouble.”

You plop down on the battered couch, already eyeing the bowl she’s placed on the low table in front of you. It’s steaming, smells like home — something spicy, savory, with a hint of sweetness. Probably her version of stew, but you don’t care. You’re starving.

She sits down beside you, pulling out a roll of gauze and a small first aid kit. “Let me see those hands. You think you can’t patch yourself up, huh?”

You hold out your fists, wincing as she rolls up your sleeves and inspects the scratches and bruises. “You really gotta stop doing stupid stuff.”

You grin, the edges of your mouth twitching despite the pain. “But you like it when I’m tough.”

She just shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth twitches upward. “You’re an idiot.”

While wrapping your knuckles, Ryoko’s eyes soften for a moment — a rare crack in her tough exterior. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”

You meet her gaze, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks. For this. For everything.”

She shrugs, suddenly defensive. “Don’t get mushy on me. It’s just food and first aid.”

But you see it. The care buried beneath the bark.

You shove a spoonful of the stew into your mouth, sighing in pure satisfaction. “You should charge for this.”

Her eyes narrow again. “And let people think I’m soft? Never.”

You laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely scary.”

She leans back, crossing her arms, smirking. “Good. Scary is my brand.”

You lean back too, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little. Because no matter how brutal the streets get, no matter how much the family you have might disappoint, there’s this — this bond, this constant, unshakeable thing.

Ryoko Baji. Your scary, fierce, loving mother-figure, your best friend, your family.

And right now, she’s got your back — and your dinner.

“Tomorrow, try not to get yourself killed, yeah?”

You grin, already plotting your next stupid fight.

“Where’s the fun in that?”