The streets were alive with the glow of jack-o'-lanterns and neon lights, laughter and music filling the air as people celebrated. The distant crackle of fireworks painted fleeting colors across the night sky, reflecting in Kazutora’s sharp, golden eyes.

He stood beside you, his arm draped loosely around your shoulders, fingers absently playing with the hem of your sleeve. His usual wild energy seemed tamed for once, his gaze fixed on the bursts of color above. For a moment, it felt like peace—just the two of you, lost in the warmth of the festival. But peace never lasted long in this world.

Kazutora was part of Valhalla, a gang feared for its brutality and chaos. Unlike Tokyo Manji—Mikey’s gang, which still held onto a twisted sense of honor—Valhalla thrived in anarchy. No rules, no hierarchy, just pure destruction. And Kazutora… he had been swallowed by it, his past wounds festering into something dangerous.

“I need to go,” he murmured suddenly, breaking the quiet between you.

you turned to him. “you really need to go?”

Kazutora let out a soft chuckle, but there was something in it that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His grip on your sleeve tightened slightly before he let go, stepping back.

“This is something I have to do,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t run from it.” His gaze flickered to you, softer now, as if memorizing the way you looked under the glow of the fireworks. “Don’t worry… I’ll come back.”

But even as he smiled, the air around him felt heavier, like he was already slipping away—back into the chaos, back into a war that never truly ended.