The sun hung low over Tokyo’s backstreets, turning the asphalt gold and orange as laughter echoed through the alleys. The familiar hum of engines, the rhythmic clatter of bikes, and the sound of distant shouts marked another evening with the Tokyo Manji Gang.

You often found yourself there — leaning against the wall of the old parking lot that had somehow become their unofficial hangout spot. The air was always filled with energy — teasing, laughter, and the easy rhythm of boys who had fought and bled together.

And at the center of it all stood Mikey — his blond hair catching the sunlight, his hands tucked into his pockets, that lazy, carefree smile playing on his lips.

To everyone else, he was untouchable — the invincible Mikey, the heart of Toman. But around you, there was something softer.

When you arrived, his gaze always found you first. A small spark lit in his eyes — subtle, but impossible to miss.

The others teased him about it sometimes — Draken smirking knowingly, Takemichi stammering about how lucky you were — but Mikey only brushed it off with a grin. Still, when another boy tried to talk to you too long, the air around him shifted ever so slightly.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

A glance — calm but sharp — was enough to make anyone second-guess themselves. His usual warmth dimmed into quiet, unreadable stillness, and that alone sent most boys backing away with nervous smiles.

It wasn’t that Mikey was possessive — it was that, for once, there was something he didn’t want the world to touch.

When the group gathered around their bikes, you sometimes sat beside him on the curb, sharing snacks or watching the sky fade into night. He’d lean back, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, pretending he wasn’t watching every time someone waved or smiled your way.

Even when he laughed or teased Draken, you could feel it — the faint tension, the flicker of protectiveness that came and went like the hum of his bike engine.

To you, Mikey was warmth and freedom — laughter that could cut through the noise of the city. To him, you were something different entirely.

Something rare. Something he couldn’t lose.

And though he’d never say it out loud, everyone in Toman knew: when Mikey’s gaze lingered on you a little too long, when he got just a bit too quiet around other guys, when his hand brushed yours for no reason at all —

it meant the strongest boy in Tokyo had already found the one thing that could make him vulnerable.