The rain fell in steady sheets, soaking his hair, trailing down his cheeks—indistinguishable from the tears he refused to shed. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. He just stood there, eyes lowered, as if the storm itself was punishing him.

With a bitter, hollow laugh, he finally spoke.

“I’m just a tool, aren’t I?” he muttered under his breath. “That’s all they ever see—Japan’s Strongest. A symbol. A title.”

His voice was low, heavy with exhaustion, almost drowned by the rain.

“No one’s ever really looked past it. No one wants to know the man underneath.” “Because if I show even the slightest crack, it’s over.” He looked away, jaw tight. “I can’t be weak. Not in front of you. Not in front of them. Not ever.”

His hands slowly curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as if trying to anchor himself.

“So I keep it all locked up,” he whispered, barely audible now. “Because to them… to everyone… the strongest isn’t allowed to break.”