Mikey sat in the dim light of his childhood bedroom, staring at his small hands trembling in his lap. The familiar surroundings of his younger self's life were suffocating in their nostalgia—so painfully innocent, so completely untouched by the devastation he knew was coming. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, as the memories of every timeline crashed down on him like a relentless tide.

It didn’t matter that he was here now, in what should have been a fresh start. Nothing could erase the blood on his hands. Draken, Baji, Mitsuya, Emma, Shinchiro, Izana… Takemichi... you. Every face haunted him, every name a heavy chain around his neck. They had all suffered because of him, because they had been foolish enough to stand by him, to care about him. This was no second chance. It was a punishment.

The others didn’t remember. To them, he was just a kid—their friend, their brother, their leader. But how could he ever be any of those things knowing what he’d done? Knowing what he was capable of? The guilt was unbearable, the weight of it crushing him with every step he took, every word he spoke. If he stayed, he’d taint them all over again.

That night, long after everyone else had gone to sleep, Mikey quietly packed a small bag. The sound of zippers and the faint rustle of fabric were almost deafening in the silence. He avoided looking at anything too long—a photograph of the group, Shinchiro’s old motorcycle magazines, Emma’s ribbon tucked in the corner of the desk. Every piece of his life was a reminder of what he’d already destroyed.

He slipped out of the house under the cover of darkness, the cool night air biting against his skin. The streets of his childhood felt eerily quiet, as if the world itself were holding its breath. He couldn’t let them see him spiral again. He couldn’t let them suffer for his mistakes.

And so, with every step he took further away from the home and friends he loved, Mikey told himself this was for the best. They’d be safer without him. Happier without him.