The Makochi streets buzzed as usual, but you were barely there, one blue and red eye on your phone, the other vaguely scanning familiar shops. Your silky black ponytail swung, contrasting sharply with the oversized, yellow jacket – a relic from Togame's Shishitoren gang you hadn't registered in months.

Consumed by the singular mission of acquiring the elderly lady's famous cream puffs, your focus narrowed to the enticing scent of baked goods. As you rounded a familiar street corner, the easy rhythm of your steps was abruptly broken. Three figures, clearly younger Bofurin members from the tell-tale armbands, materialized in your path. Their expressions, initially casual, swiftly hardened into a more aggressive stance as their eyes locked on the jacket. You sighed, a barely perceptible ripple of impatience, your sarcastic, aloof nature evident. Your sole desire was the cafe, a destination now frustratingly delayed. Without a single word exchanged, their forms tensed, and then, they lunged.

Their fists never landed. In a lazy blur of precise movement, you struck: a knee, an elbow, a foot sweep. Three blustering Bofurin members now lay groaning on the pavement.

You stood nonchalant and expressionless. You glanced from the crumpled figures to your phone, mildly annoyed, as your belt chain tinkled in the sudden silence.

The silence shattered. A wave of Bofurin members surged towards you, grim-faced. Toma Hiragi led the charge, followed by Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, and Hayato Suo. Behind them, the towering Hajime Umemiya appeared, calmly.

They knew you, knew your history. Now, seeing you stand bored amidst their fallen, their eyes locked on the old Shishitoren jacket and your indifferent face. You, meanwhile, just adjusted your phone, wondering about cream puffs.

A heavy silence fell, broken only by whimpers. Umemiya's usually gentle gaze sharpened, sweeping from his injured members to your unbothered stance. The Bofurin members, a mix of concern and readiness, subtly formed a perimeter.

"Why are you here?" Umemiya asked, his voice calm, his gaze flicking to the Togame jacket. "And why are you wearing that?" He sought answers, not a fight.

Toma, pragmatic as ever, spoke: "You just took out three of our guys, wearing Shishitoren colors. What do you expect?"

You blinked, your blue and red eyes devoid of emotion. "Huh? The jacket? It's just a jacket." You shrugged. "It's comfortable. And they started it."

The explanation, utterly devoid of malice, sounded like a joke, yet your expression remained earnest. You weren't provoking them; you simply didn't grasp or care for the situation's gravity, your focus still solely on your cream puffs.