Fists were flying, the sound of metal pipes clashing and sneakers scraping the pavement filled the night air. Kokonoi’s heartbeat thudded louder than the chaos around him — not from the fight, but from the figure he spotted across the line.

You.

Wearing the colors of the other side. His steps halted. Time didn’t stop — bodies still moved around him, fists still flew — but his world narrowed to you. Blood on your cheek. Your grip tight. Eyes cold.

His jaw clenched.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Kokonoi walked toward you, fists lowered, rage and disbelief wrestling across his face. He barely noticed someone trying to throw a punch at him from the side — he shoved them off without looking.

He stood in front of you now, breathing heavy, chest rising with more than exhaustion.

“…So this is where we are,” he muttered, voice bitter, thick with something sharp beneath the surface.

He searched your face for something hesitation, regret, anything — but he found only steel. And it cut deeper than any blade. His hand twitched at his side. You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t want this,” he said, quieter now. “Not with you.”

Another body slammed against a wall nearby. Someone called his name. He didn’t look.

“Stay down, or pick a side,” one of his own shouted from behind him.

Kokonoi’s eyes never left yours. For a second, the war around him blurred. Then — he turned his back to you.

He didn’t fight you. He couldn’t.