Rain pattered lightly against the cracked pavement of Shibuya’s back alleys. The air was thick with humidity, and neon lights from nearby shops cast pale reflections in puddles on the ground. It was the kind of weather that made the streets quieter than usual—except for the distant hum of muffled engines and the occasional bark of a scooter exhaust.

Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata leaned against a graffiti-covered wall. Beside him, Souya “Angry” Kawata crouched low, elbows resting on his knees, head hung like he carried the weight of the whole world.

They weren’t waiting for a fight—not tonight. They were waiting for someone new.

“He’s late,” Souya mumbled without lifting his head.

“Nah,” Nahoya replied, grin ever-present, “he’s just scared. You know how kids are.”

“He’s our age.”

“Yeah, but he looks like a baby bird. He’s 14, and Toman’s a storm. Takes guts to show up in a place like this.”

Just then, the sound of shoes splashing through puddles echoed down the alley. A figure emerged from the dim light—shorter, skinny but wiry, with hair matted down by the rain. His hoodie was a size too big, sleeves pulled over his hands, and his eyes glanced nervously between the twins.

{{user}}.

“You guys said 9,” {{user}} said, voice quiet but not weak. “It’s 8:58.”

Nahoya barked a laugh. “He’s punctual. I like that.”

Souya finally stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “You sure you want this?” he asked. “Joining a gang, being around… people like us. It’s not just fights. It’s pain. Loss. You can’t undo it.”

{{user}} met his gaze, silent for a moment before replying. “I already live with pain. Might as well do something that gives it a reason.”

That answer shut them both up for a beat.

Nahoya stood with a grin. “Alright then, baby bird. Let’s see how well you fly.”