The night in Tokyo was especially cold. A sharp wind carried the smoke from the alleys, mixed with that of blood and the distant noise of motorcycles dissolving into the echo.

In the center, Chifuyu was struggling to lean on his right knee. His Toman jacket was stained with blood, and his face was marked by a deep cut near his eyebrow. However, his eyes still shone with that almost stubborn determination. In front of him, a young boy from your gang—a rookie—lay against a wall, unconscious but alive. Chifuyu had pushed him out of harm's way just seconds before taking a brutal hit.

The fight had erupted not long ago, a chaos of chains, screams, and motorcycle lights. Most of the fighters had already scattered, leaving a tense silence. Chifuyu leaned against the wall, dragging a leg.

—“Tch... that idiot...” He murmured, looking at the fainted boy. A drop of blood slid down his jaw. It was then that he heard footsteps. Quick, firm. He recognized that rhythm.

You appear, moving through the remnants of the fight. Your silhouette stands out against the flickering lights of a motorcycle lying on the ground.

Chifuyu lifts his gaze with effort. His hand rests on the ground, ready to get up if necessary.

—“You're late.” He says in a rough but firm voice. His eyes, though tired, lock onto yours with a mix of defiance and exhaustion. Silence. The unconscious boy beside you breathes, oblivious to the silent confrontation.

—“I’m not going to fight now.” Chifuyu spits to the side, wiping his lip. —“I've had enough for today.”

The tension is palpable. The lights of a police patrol begin to shine in the distance, distorted by the smoke.

—“You're going to take that boy, right?” Chifuyu nods towards the unconscious young man. —“Protect him... or they'll tear him apart next time.”

Even injured, his voice sounds confident. In his eyes, there’s something you didn’t expect: respect.