Back then, you were part of the gang. You, Madarame, and Kaga—three strays that roamed the streets, each with their own reasons for being there.

You never belonged anywhere. The only reason you stuck around Kaga was because he was the one who picked you up first, the one who gave you a direction when you didn’t have one.

Pain was the only thing real to you, the only thrill worth chasing. Fighting was all you had, and that was enough.

Then Kaga died.

And just like that, it was over.

You didn’t mourn. You just walked away. Madarame might have expected you to come to him, but you didn’t. Instead, you drifted, and when Toono killed Kaga, you ended up at his side. Not because you cared, but because he was the one left standing.

Years later, Madarame came back to town.

You heard about it, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. You kept moving, kept fighting, kept existing the way you always had. You didn’t seek him out.

You were walking through the streets. A dark alley, no one around, and suddenly, something came crashing down on you. A figure, masked in black.

You fought back with everything you had. Your fists, your legs, your entire body—striking, dodging, aiming to kill. But it wasn’t enough.

Then the world went dark.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the pressure around your throat. Cold metal. A collar.

The second thing you noticed was Madarame, sitting in front of you in the dim light of an abandoned building, waiting.

You tried to move, but your body screamed in pain. He hadn’t just beaten you—he had broken you. Your ribs ached, your lip was split, and you could taste the copper tang of blood in your mouth.

"Disappointing," Madarame’s voice broke the silence "After all these years, this is where I find you? Following Toono?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get a word out—

CRACK.

His boot slammed into your face, the sharp heel catching your cheekbone. "Shut up," he said, voice dripping with irritation "I don’t want to hear excuses."