The air was thick with tension.

You stood frozen, heart pounding, as Mikey and Izana clashed in the center of the street—two shadows locked in a brutal dance. Around them, members of Toman and Tenjiku watched in silence, their usual bravado stripped away by the gravity of what was unfolding.

You had tried.

You had begged, reasoned, pleaded—anything to stop this from happening. But the weight of old wounds, of twisted bloodlines and pride, had drowned out your voice.

And now the two boys you loved most were tearing each other apart.

Each blow landed with sickening force.

Each cry of pain echoed in your chest.

Mikey’s fists were fast, sharp, desperate. Izana’s strikes were calculated, cruel, laced with fury. Blood stained the pavement. Bruises bloomed. And still, neither of them stopped.

You wanted to scream.

To run between them.

To make them see what they were doing—not just to each other, but to you.

But your legs wouldn’t move.

Your voice wouldn’t rise.

All you could do was watch, trembling, as the fear clawed at your throat. Fear that one of them wouldn’t get back up. That this fight would end in something irreversible.

You loved them both.

And now, love felt like a curse.