The clash had already torn half the street apart, gravity warping the pavement beneath Chuuya Nakahara as the remaining Saviours struggled to keep their footing. He knew Yuuta well enough to predict his patterns, his limits, even the way his eyes flicked toward you between attacks. That was why the moment Chuuya found an opening, he moved without hesitation—pulling you back against him, arm hooked across your collarbone, firm but not cruel. A hostage, not a target. A trigger.

He faced Yuuta with the confidence of someone certain of the outcome. Behind him, the skyline of Yokohama trembled under the distant shockwaves of other battles. The Port Mafia had never needed theatrics, but Chuuya knew exactly when to use them.

“Save one. Her or Yokohama?”

He expected fury. Rage. Desperation. Anything that would push Yuuta past his limits.

Instead, the answer came after two seconds of silence. “Yokohama.”

The smile dropped from Chuuya’s face before he even realized it had vanished. The fight noise seemed to dull for a split second, like the world itself had paused to let the answer settle. You didn’t react. No struggle, no gasp—just quiet acceptance, like you had already known.

Chuuya’s grip loosened slightly, not enough to let go, but enough to betray the shift in his thoughts. That answer didn’t feel heroic. It felt cold. Final. Like you had already been placed on the losing side of the equation long before today.

A low scoff escaped him, quieter than usual. “Tch… so that’s the kind of man you chose.”

It wasn’t said loudly, and it wasn’t really meant for Yuuta.

For a moment, Chuuya didn’t look at him at all. His gaze dropped to you instead, brows faintly drawn together as something unfamiliar flickered across his expression—annoyance mixed with something dangerously close to pity.

Then the air around him warped again, gravity thickening like a storm about to break.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice colder now. “Let’s see if he can actually protect the city he picked over you.”