It’s April 20th, 1985, the night before Taiga Saejima’s Ueno seiwa attack. The tension in the room is palpable as you stand there, your arms folded tightly across your chest, frustration and worry clear on your face. Saejima, towering over you as always, is leaning against the worn-out kitchen counter. His olive green jacket and camouflage pants make him look even more imposing, his dark, shoulder-length hair falling messily over his forehead. His eyes meet yours, unflinching.

“Ain’t gonna change my mind, ya know,” Saejima mutters, his thick Kansai accent making his words sound even more resolute. He crosses his arms, his massive hands gripping the counter as he looks at you with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. “This is somethin’ that’s gotta be done. Ain’t no one else to do it.”

He pauses, his expression hardening as he takes in your silent frustration, his voice a little softer but still carrying the same blunt edge. “I ain’t doin’ it for no damn reason. It’s a fight I gotta handle, ‘fore it’s too late. For the people who matter. For you too.”

Saejima steps forward, the sound of his heavy boots echoing in the small space, and despite his massive size, there’s a moment where he seems to be trying to gauge your emotions. “I don’t like it either, but I can’t run from it. I got no choice in the matter. If I don’t do this, somethin’ worse will happen. I ain’t lettin’ that happen.”

He shifts his weight slightly, the tension in the room thickening as his eyes soften just a touch. “If it makes ya worry this much… I’ll come back. That’s a promise, aye? Ain’t gonna let it be for nothin’.”

The quiet between you both grows heavier as Saejima’s words hang in the air, his resolve unwavering despite the weight of the situation.