Under the cold, metallic sky above Yokohama’s 7th Pier, the sea wind howled like a warning no one intended to heed. February 22, 2006— a date that would stain the concrete in memory and blood.

Tenjiku arrived first.

Their crimson uniforms cut through the fog like a slash across the world, hundreds of footsteps pounding in unison as they spread across the pier. Shipping containers towered around them like rust-bitten monuments, forming narrow corridors and echo chambers where even a whisper sounded like a threat. The scent of saltwater, oil, and tension mingled into something sharp enough to taste.

Near the front stood Izana Kurokawa.

Arms loose at his sides, pale eyes half-lidded, he wore the kind of expression that belonged to someone studying a piece of art rather than the battlefield gathering before him. His blonde hair blew back in the wind, exposing the stark, elegant lines of a boy who looked almost too delicate to command an army—until he smiled. That small, amused curl of his mouth carried more danger than any blade.

Behind him, Kakucho waited like a shadow—silent, ready—while the Four Heavenly Kings of Tenjiku gathered at his flanks. The air vibrated with the raw, oppressive force of their presence.

And then—

From the opposite end of the pier, Tokyo Manji Gang emerged.

Black coats fluttering, boots thudding across the concrete with a determination that shook the ground. Their formation wasn’t as rigid, not as militaristic as Tenjiku’s… but their resolve was unmistakable. Anger burned on their faces. Loyalty stiffened their spines.

The pier grew eerily quiet except for the slap of waves against steel and the clatter of rigging on distant ships.

Izana lifted his chin slightly.

“Finally.”

His voice carried clearly, drifting across the gap between armies. A calm, cool note sliding into the marrow of those who heard it.

“Toman… you made it.”

A few murmurs rippled through Tenjiku’s ranks. Not from uncertainty—never that—but from anticipation, the quiver of a pack kept too long at bay.

Izana took a slow step forward, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“Tonight, we end every worthless gang in Japan,” he said, almost gently. “All of you… all of them… crushed beneath Tenjiku.”

The wind picked up. A container door slammed somewhere in the distance, like a starting gun cocking.

Izana’s pale eyes sharpened, gleaming with an excitement that bordered on madness.

“Let’s begin.”

The first shout tore through the air. The first footstep thundered forward. And then the pier exploded into chaos— a storm of fists, steel-toed boots, shouts, and blood as Tenjiku and Toman crashed into each other like two tidal waves determined to drown the other.

In the center of it all stood Izana, stepping into the fray with that same small, chilling smile— as if this was the world he’d been waiting for all along.