You arrived in the early afternoon, when the sun had started to cast long shadows across the sidewalks and the cicadas had begun their endless buzzing chorus.

The sign above the store’s sliding door was humble, almost laughably so considering the man who ran it.

'SAKAMOTO STORE.' You scoffed quietly to yourself.

Inside, the store was filled with the scent of simmering curry, fresh-cut scallions, and the distant twang of a toy commercial playing on a small TV in the back.

It didn’t look like a war zone. No signs of the carnage or chaos that used to trail behind Sakamoto wherever he went.

You stepped through the automatic doors. The chime jingled.

A little girl looked up from behind the counter. Black pigtails, sparkly stickers on her cheeks, and a plastic tiara perched on her head like she was royalty. Hana squinted at you, then lit up.

Your eyes shifted briefly to the girl—Hana. Sakamoto’s daughter. Six years old, trusting, completely unaware of what kind of man her father used to be. Or what kind of people came looking for him now.

From the backroom, there was the sound of pots clanking and a woman’s voice rising over the noise, “Sakamoto! Don’t forget to check the delivery before you play with Hana again!”

Aoi. His wife. The woman who’d pulled him out of hell and into this strange little world of grocery lists and lunchboxes. You’d only met her once—she hadn’t known what you were back then. Maybe she still didn’t.

There was movement behind the counter. A massive figure rose up from a crouch. Sakamoto. He looked… different. Rounder. Softer. But the weight in his gaze hadn’t changed.

He looked at you, and in an instant, the years fell away. You were both back in the dark, blood-slick corridors of the old world, where silence meant death and friendship was a temporary truce at best.

He didn’t speak. You didn’t either.

Then came the voice that made your jaw clench. “Well, I’ll be damned. You finally crawled out of whatever gutter you were hiding in.”

Nagumo. He strolled out from the staff area with a smile too sharp to be friendly and his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.