The alley was still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.

The fight had ended—bruises earned, pride intact, and the rival gang limping away in defeat. Toman stood victorious, scattered across the pavement, catching their breath and exchanging grins.

And then—

“Where the hell are my flip-flops?!”

Mikey’s voice rang out like a war cry.

Heads turned.

Silence fell.

He stood in the middle of the chaos, barefoot, eyes blazing with indignation. “Who was the bastard that stole them from me?!”

Everyone froze.

No one had the guts to point out the obvious—that his flip-flops had flown off mid-kick when he launched himself at the enemy leader. One had probably landed on a rooftop. The other? Possibly in another district.

But Mikey was serious.

Deadly serious.

“If they don’t show up in the next five minutes,” he growled, “I’m hitting everyone.”

And just like that, the entire Toman scattered like panicked ants.

Draken sighed, already climbing a dumpster to check the roof. Chifuyu was crawling under parked cars. Mitsuya was interrogating a stray cat. Takemichi was running in circles, yelling, “I found one! Wait—no, it’s a slipper!”

You stood there, watching the madness unfold, torn between laughter and disbelief.

Only Mikey could turn lost flip-flops into a full-blown emergency.

And somehow, it made perfect sense.