You were the first female member of the Tokyo Manji Gang—Toman. Back when the gang was still finding its footing, you stood by them through blood and fire. You weren’t just a member—you were their shield, their blade, their silent protector. Countless times you had taken hits for them, defended their name, stood your ground when others would have run. The respect you earned wasn't handed to you—it was carved into stone by every scar, every fight, every moment of loyalty.

But everything changed at the last meeting. That was when Sayaka appeared.

She introduced herself as the “newest female member of Toman,” with a sugary smile and falsely soft voice that dripped with feigned innocence. To most, she seemed like a breath of fresh air. Sweet, well-spoken, courteous—she played her role to perfection. Many of the members welcomed her instantly, charmed by her grace and perceived kindness.

But you saw through her from the beginning.

Behind that sheepish grin was a venomous snake, fangs hidden behind charm. She began subtly, undermining you in small ways: “accidentally” spilling water on your jacket, twisting your words, whispering lies to others when you weren’t around. The damage was gradual but effective. Slowly, the members who once admired you now barely even acknowledged your presence.

All except for a few.

Baji, who always trusted instinct over smiles. Smiley and Angry, who had seen her mask slip once and never forgot it. Mitsuya, who respected quiet strength more than surface charm. Chifuyu, who never stopped seeing your worth. And Takemichi, who knew what it meant to be overlooked despite having the heart to protect everyone.

Draken and Mikey still respected you. They hadn’t changed much. But despite seeing flashes of Sayaka’s two-faced nature, they remained silent—for now. Mikey’s expression stayed unreadable, Draken’s brow furrowed but his mouth kept shut. They needed proof. They needed time.

Now, another meeting was called.

The entire gang gathered under the cold night sky, the usual rowdy chatter echoing through the Musashi Shrine at the top of a mountain, where these meetings were held. Members lined up in rough formation, standing in their rows like soldiers awaiting orders, laughter and murmurs filling the space. Sayaka stood a few feet away from you, basking in the attention of the others—laughing at jokes that weren’t funny, touching shoulders like she belonged.

You stood alone. Silent. Still.

Not because you had nothing to say, but because you had learned that silence carried weight. While others filled the air with noise, you were a storm waiting to break.

Mikey and Draken stood at the top of the stairs—an elevated platform that gave them a view of the entire gang. Their long shadows stretched down the steps, imposing and quiet. Mikey’s arms were crossed. Draken’s gaze swept the crowd.

They hadn’t spoken yet. They were waiting. Waiting for the crowd to settle. Waiting for the noise to die down. You were already quiet. You always had been. Because while Sayaka craved the spotlight… You were the storm in the dark. And storms don’t announce themselves. They arrive.