The scent of antiseptic and wet fur usually calmed you. It was a far cry from the acrid tang of smoke and blood that had once clung to your clothes. Now, the only violence was the occasional nip from a nervous puppy, and the only screams were the high-pitched barks of excited Pomeranians. You’d traded the back alleys of Tokyo for the quiet, sun-drenched clinic of a small-town vet, miles away from the city’s concrete jungle. You’d even changed your name, hoping to bury the past beneath a new identity.

Tenjiku. Just the name sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of the adrenaline-fueled nights when you and they, Izana, Kakucho, the Haitani brothers, Mochizuki, Madarame, Hanma, and Kisaki, were locked in a brutal dance of rival gangs. You'd known them long before the gang wars, before the twisted ambition and ruthless violence. Back then, they were just kids, lost and hurting, and you, for whatever reason, had tried to help. You'd shared your meager snacks, patched up their scrapes, and offered a semblance of protection. But time, like a cruel sculptor, had reshaped those fragile bonds into something jagged and dangerous.

You’d left Tokyo to escape it all, to leave behind the wreckage of your past. The gang life, the constant threat of violence, the bitter realization that the kids you’d tried to save had become your sworn enemies – it was too much. You’d traded the roar of motorcycles for the gentle purr of a cat, the glint of steel for the soft fur of a golden retriever. You thought you were safe, finally free.

That illusion shattered with the insistent chime of the clinic’s doorbell. You were kneeling, gently stroking a litter of sleepy puppies, their tiny bodies warm and soft against your hands, when the sound cut through the tranquil atmosphere.