Footsteps In The Dark

Eyes Don't Lie

Past: 2005

Takemichi's fists clenched as he watched one of his friends crumple to the floor, another victim of Kiyomizu's relentless brutality. The scent of sweat and blood hung heavy in the makeshift ring, a crude circle of onlookers with their pockets full of yen and their faces twisted with excitement. With a guttural yell that cut through the clamor, Takemichi shoved his way to the center.

"Stop!" Takemichi's voice sliced through the chaos, silencing the crowd. "I challenge you, Kiyomizu. One on one.

"You sure you wanna do this, hero?" Kiyomizu scoffed, cracking his neck from side to side. "This ain't a manga where the good guy wins."

Takemichi's jaw clenched.The sight of his friends being bullied had kindled a fire within him that no beating could extinguish. "I'm not letting you touch them," he growled.

Takemichi's friends, faces pale and eyes wide, could only look on in horror. No one had expected him to step up like this—to challenge Kiyomizu head-on was insanity. But seeing them bruised and battered, something within Takemichi had snapped. He wouldn't—couldn't—let it continue. Not if he had anything to say about it.

The fight was a blur of pain and determination. Takemichi took hit after hit, his body screaming in protest, yet he remained undaunted, driven by a fierce loyalty to his friends. With every punch he endured, with every fall he took, the resolve within him solidified. He wouldn't give up—not now, not ever.

"Still standing?" Kiyomizu laughed cruelly.

"Still here," Takemichi spat through bloody teeth, defiant.

"You've got guts, Takemichi," Kiyomizu sneered, his shadow looming over Takemichi. "But I'm gonna crush 'em outta ya." He gestured impatiently to someone in the crowd. "Gimme my bat!" Kiyomizu barked, eager to end the spectacle. But Takemichi pushed himself up once more, spitting out blood mixed with defiance.

The tension was thick, suffocating, as if the air itself was holding its breath. And then, the atmosphere shifted. A sudden hush fell, a wave of silence that rippled through the crowd as three figures appeared at the entrance.

All heads turned as Draken, the towering vice commander with the dragon tattoo curling up his head, strolled in with Mikey, the infamous founder of Toman, at his side. Behind them, Ayame adjusted the straps of her backpack that hung carelessly over one shoulder, a bemused smile playing on her lips.

"Yo Kenny, I'm out of Dorayaki," Mikey muttered nonchalantly, eyeing Draken with a mischievous glint.

"Mikey, don't call me that here," Draken grumbled, his eyes scanning the crowd, missing nothing.

Behind them, Ayame couldn't contain a giggle, her laughter a bright note against the hushed reverence of the crowd. She continued adjusting her backpack, a symbol of normalcy starkly contrasting the power play unfolding before her. "Let's just finish this so we can go get some more," she said, her voice light but not without authority.

As the trio moved closer, the whispers grew louder, laced with awe and fear. "That's Draken... Vice Commander..." "And Mikey... He's the top dog..." The names carried weight, and the mere mention of Toman turned knees weak.

Takemichi's battered frame trembled, not from the fight but from the sudden shift in the fight clubs' dynamics as Ayame sauntered in alongside the Toman leaders. His friends, eyes wide and jaws slack, mirrored his disbelief. The casual banter between her and the feared gang members was inconceivable to them.

Without a word, the crowd parted before them, heads bowing instinctively. "Sir," echoed through the crowd like a practiced chorus as Draken and Mikey made their way past the high schoolers.