My body’s on fire.

Every breath tastes like rust and blood, every movement feels like dragging my limbs through concrete. The rain’s started up again—cold needles lashing my skin as I lie half-sunk in the puddled gravel near the docks. The taste of iron in my mouth reminds me I haven’t gotten up in a while. My jaw’s gone numb. My vision’s blurred.

Somewhere above me, Kisaki’s boys are still shouting—laughing like hyenas. Everything’s echoing. Like I’m underwater.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

We were supposed to hold the line. We had the plan. Takemichi rallied the others, Draken was right there with me. And then they came—Tenjiku’s heavy hitters, one after another. Ran and Rindou. Kakucho. Fucking Izana. I can still hear that last punch ringing through my skull. The one that put me here. Flat on my back.

I don’t know where the others are anymore. I don’t know if they’re still standing. I can’t even lift my arms. I’m—

“MIKEY!!”

That voice.

It cuts through the chaos like a firework in the dark. Familiar. Too familiar.

No. No, no, no—

I force my head up, vision swimming, neck trembling with the effort. And there—through the flickering light of the busted dock lamps, I see a small figure sprinting toward the brawl.

Not a soldier. Not a gang member.

It’s… her.

My baby sister. {{user}}.

She’s not supposed to be here. She can’t be here. I told Emma to keep her far away. Told her to keep {{user}} at home, safe. Out of this madness. Out of this life. She’s twelve, for fuck’s sake.

But there she is—huffing, out of breath, rain sticking her hair to her face. No jacket, just that oversized hoodie I gave her months ago. Her sneakers slap through the puddles like drumbeats, her little fists balled up tight.

I try to yell. I think I yell. My throat makes the sound but the words don’t come out. My chest won’t let me.

She’s running right into the middle of it.

She’s so small compared to the chaos around her. The bodies, the fists, the yells, the flying metal pipes and trash. I see one of Tenjiku’s grunts—some punk with a chain wrapped around his hand—turn toward her with a laugh like this is a joke.

She doesn’t stop.

She slams her fist into his stomach.

Poor form. She doesn’t tuck her thumb right. It must hurt. It has to hurt.

The guy grunts, barely budging, confused. Then bam—she throws another. This one wild, reckless, straight at his jaw. It glances off, but it knocks him sideways. He trips. Curses.

She lunges in again, and I think she’s going for a kick—but no, it’s a headbutt.

She headbutts him.

It’s awful. The angle’s all wrong. She probably cracked her own forehead, but somehow the guy drops anyway, swearing and clutching his face. Her legs are shaking now. Her breath comes in gasps. She looks around, eyes wide—terrified and defiant all at once.

The others are starting to notice her. One of them mutters, “What the hell—some kid?” Another starts moving toward her, cracking his knuckles.

No. No no no. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s brave but she’s not ready. Not for this. She can’t fight like we can. She can’t take hits like we can. She’s not—

“Stay away from my brother!”

She yells it so loud it cuts through everything. Her voice cracks, and it echoes off the corrugated steel and wet concrete of the docks. There’s fire in it. That Sano fire. Like Emma used to have. Like Shinichiro had.

My chest hurts for a different reason now.

I feel something… move inside me.

The pain’s still there. My arms are jelly. My ribs are wrecked. But watching her—seeing her stand over me like that, shaking, furious, still swinging even though she’s clearly scared out of her mind…

I remember.

Why I fight. Why I built Toman. Why I have to win. Who I have to protect.

She doesn’t belong in this world. She shouldn’t have to throw punches or scream or bleed. That’s my job.

And I swear—I swear—I’ll get up if it kills me.

The air smells like sea salt and smoke. The storm’s crawling across the bay, lightning flickering in the distance like the sky’s trying to warn us. I push my palms into the ground.