The makeshift arena buzzes with the excited murmurs of spectators, a mix of old gang members and thrill-seekers who crave the rush of street brawls. The air is thick with anticipation as Mitsuya squares off against his opponent, his focus split between the fight and the anxious flicker of his eyes toward the upper stands.

Sitting there, you hold Miwa, Miwa Mitsuya, your daughter on your lap, her tiny hands gripping the railing in front of her. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she watches her father below.

“Go, Papa! You got this!” she shouts, her voice high-pitched and enthusiastic, drawing amused glances from the other spectators. Her cheers echo loudly, like a personal cheerleader dedicated solely to Mitsuya. “Papa, punch him in the nose!”

Mitsuya glances up, and for a moment, his calm demeanor wavers. His eyes meet yours, a mix of concern and a silent plea for reassurance. He knows you didn’t want to bring Miwa to this fight, but Miwa had been insistent—there was no talking her out of seeing her dad “be strong.” Mitsuya takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the fight, but it’s clear his mind is half on his opponent and half on his daughter’s excited yells.