The door slammed shut behind her, the force of it sending a dull echo through the room. Kaede Mazino was gone, leaving behind only the storm of emotions she had unleashed.
Hiroki stood there, his breath unsteady, his fists clenched at his sides. His heart pounded in his chest, the lingering weight of his mother's words pressing down on him like an anchor. Slowly, his gaze lifted to Shotaro.
Shotaro hadn't moved. He stood there, still as a mountain, his crimson eyes calm, unreadable. There was no anger, no frustration—just that same quiet, unshaken presence.
Hiroki swallowed hard. "Aniki…" He didn't even know what he wanted to say. Apologize? Ask what came next? The words stuck in his throat.
A sharp exhale broke the silence.
"Hahhh… That woman…"
Rin Akagitsune, still standing nearby, crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her crimson-pink eyes flashing with irritation. Her long brown hair, adorned with traditional ornaments, shifted as she huffed, clearly seething.
Her patience had limits. And Kaede had just pushed them.
"That woman…" Rin muttered, her voice edged with annoyance as she glanced at Shotaro, who remained as motionless as ever.
The tension still hung thick in the air, but Shotaro, as always, remained composed. He let out a small exhale, adjusting the grip on the cup of tea he had barely touched since the confrontation began. Then, in his usual, laid-back tone, he spoke.
"Anyway," Shotaro said, as if nothing had just happened, "since I've taught you enough, let's try to find the first job."
Hiroki, still reeling from the emotional wreckage left by his mother's exit, blinked. "Huh?"
"The Red-Eyed Ronin thing," Shotaro clarified. "You know, our plan to find people who need help."
Hiroki took a second to process. Right. That plan. The one Shotaro had been talking about for a while now—the idea of being a delinquent gang that helps people.
It was an interesting idea, but…
"Yeah," Hiroki said, rubbing the back of his neck, "but I don't think the two of us can be considered a gang, Aniki."
Shotaro's crimson eyes flickered slightly. He was about to dismiss the thought, but then—
"Wait… you make sense," Shotaro admitted.
Hiroki's eyebrows shot up. "I do?"
Shotaro nodded. "We need at least more than two—"
Before he could finish, the heavy doors to the room swung open with a dramatic thud. The scent of expensive perfume and faint traces of incense drifted in, carried by the presence of a woman who stepped through like she owned the place.
A slow, knowing smile curled at the corners of her lips.
"Yo, Shotaro~"
Hiroki stiffened.
Shotaro didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking toward the doorway.
Yukari.
One of the women from Rin's red-light district. She wasn't just any worker, though—she was one of the older ones, one of the girls who had practically helped raise Shotaro when he was younger. A longtime friend, a troublemaker, and someone who, if he was being honest, had probably been way too affectionate with him back then.
And judging by the way her sharp, painted nails trailed along the edge of the doorway, the way her long, wavy brown hair framed her teasing smirk, and the way her violet-red eyes practically sparkled with amusement—
Yeah. That part hadn't changed.
Rin, upon seeing her, let out a groan, already rubbing her temples.
"Oh great," she muttered. "What do you want, Yukari?"
"What, I can't come check on our little big Shotaro?" Yukari teased, stepping further inside, hips swaying ever so slightly. She placed a hand on her hip and let her eyes roam over Shotaro from head to toe.
Hiroki leaned in toward Shotaro, whispering, "Aniki, she's totally checking you out."
Shotaro ignored him.
"Seriously, though," Yukari continued, tilting her head slightly, "you've grown up so much, Shotaro. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to make my heart race~"
Shotaro sighed, bringing his tea to his lips as if that would make her disappear. It didn't.
Yukari leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "You're even taller than before. More... manly."
Rin, now visibly annoyed, clapped her hands together loudly. "Yukari, stop thirsting over him for one damn second and tell us why you're here."
Yukari chuckled, but then her expression shifted slightly. Her teasing demeanor didn't vanish entirely, but there was a hint of something more serious beneath it.
Rin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, but Shotaro kept his gaze on Yukari, waiting for her to continue. She thrived on attention; he knew that much. She wanted them to ask, to beg for the information she was holding. That was just the kind of woman she was—part seductress, part schemer, all trouble.
And yet, her tips were often worth listening to.
Yukari, seeing that she had them on the hook, took a step closer, placing a delicate hand against the table and leaning forward. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulder as her lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"You two," she purred, her violet-red eyes flicking between them, "are thinking too small."
Hiroki blinked. "What?"
"You want to be a gang that helps people, right?" Yukari said, tapping a painted nail against the wood. "Do you want to go around, take jobs, and do good things while keeping that whole delinquent aesthetic?"
Shotaro gave a slow nod.
"Well," Yukari continued, her voice dripping with amusement, "you can't expect people to just know who you are. You have to brand yourselves."
Hiroki frowned. "Brand?"
Yukari let out a soft chuckle, standing up straight and placing a hand on her hip. "Exactly. You need to let people know you exist. Right now, you're just two punks with a dream. Who's going to come running to two random guys, no matter how strong or red-eyed they are?" She shot a playful wink at Shotaro.
Shotaro remained unfazed. "So what's your suggestion?"
Yukari's smirk widened. She reached into the loose fabric of her kimono and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed it onto the table in front of them.
Hiroki picked it up and unfolded it, his brows furrowing as he read the contents.
Need protection? Lost something valuable? Got a problem that needs solving?The Red-Eyed Ronin can help.
Below the words was a rough ink drawing of Shotaro—his silver hair, his sharp crimson eyes, his towering frame. It wasn't exact, but it was clear enough to be recognizable. The parchment even had a location scrawled at the bottom, pointing to Rin's red-light district as the contact point.
Hiroki gawked at it. "What the hell is this?"
Yukari grinned. "Marketing."
Shotaro raised a brow. "You made this?"
"Of course. I am a woman of many talents." She gave him a teasing bow.
Rin, still watching with crossed arms, narrowed her eyes. "You've been scheming again, haven't you?"
"Scheming is such an ugly word, Rin," Yukari said with mock offense. "I prefer to call it 'helping young men reach their full potential.'"
Hiroki still looked baffled. "Wait, wait, wait. So your idea is… what? We just start posting these around town? Hoping people see them?"
Yukari snapped her fingers. "Exactly. You pin these up in the right places—the marketplaces, the taverns, the guild halls. Anywhere people might be desperate enough to need help." She leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "And then, you wait. If your idea has merit, people will come."
Shotaro exhaled, tapping a finger against the table. It was… a simple idea. But it wasn't bad. It wasn't like they had a better alternative at the moment.
Hiroki, still unsure, frowned. "But what if people think it's a scam? What if they think we're just some thugs trying to rip them off?"
Yukari chuckled, reaching over and lightly flicking Hiroki's forehead. "Then you prove them wrong, silly boy. You show up. You do good work. You make them believe in you."
Shotaro considered it, his crimson eyes scanning over the parchment again.
A name. A reputation. A way for people to come to them rather than the other way around.
"…It's not a bad plan," Shotaro admitted.
"Damn right, it's not," Yukari said with a satisfied grin.
Hiroki sighed, still looking uncertain. "I dunno, Aniki…"
Shotaro gave him a small smirk, rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his sleeve. "You wanted to be more than just two guys, right? Well, let's start with this."
Hiroki groaned, but there was a flicker of excitement behind his grumbling. "…Fine. But if we end up looking like idiots, I'm blaming you and her."
"Deal," Shotaro said.
Yukari gave a playful clap of her hands. "Ah, I love it when my boys listen to me. Now, if you'll excuse me—" She turned on her heel, her long kimono swaying behind her. "—I have a little 'business' to attend to."
Rin narrowed her eyes. "You mean 'trouble.'"
Yukari winked. "Same thing, dear."
And with that, she strolled out of the room, her laughter trailing behind her.
Shotaro stood up, stretching his arms with a lazy roll of his shoulders. The joints in his back gave a satisfying crack as he exhaled, crimson eyes flicking toward Hiroki.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get to work."
Hiroki groaned but followed, dragging his feet.
It wasn't like he disliked the idea, but putting up posters just felt… cheap. Was this really the best way to start their whole 'helping people' business? Would people even take them seriously?
Still, he couldn't deny the small, nagging feeling of excitement creeping up his spine.
Shotaro Mugiwara.
His aniki.
The guy was a monster in combat, the strongest person Hiroki knew—no, the strongest person anyone knew. Yet, instead of taking over a gang, ruling with an iron fist, or walking the path of violence like so many expected… Shotaro just wanted to help people.
And Hiroki, whether he admitted it or not, wanted to be part of that.
Even if it meant doing dumb shit like this.
The first poster went up outside a bustling tavern, its aged wooden walls filled with other flyers—bounty requests, missing pet signs, mercenary offers. Shotaro held the parchment against the wall while Hiroki, armed with a rusty hammer and nails, secured it in place.
Then they stepped back to admire their handiwork.
Hiroki read it aloud:
DO YOU NEED HELP? ANY HELP? PROFESSIONAL, NON-PROFESSIONAL, PERSONAL, NOT PERSONAL… ANY HELP BUT SEXUAL?
THIS IS THE MAN THEY CALL! +13XXXXXXXXXX
Shotaro frowned, scanning the words carefully. "Hiroki."
"Yeah?"
"It's supposed to be 'The Man You Call,' not 'Man They Call.'"
Hiroki waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, whatever. Tomato, potato. I'm literally Japanese; my English was never that good."
Shotaro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is no excuse."
"Yeah, and?"
Shotaro just let it go. There were bigger things to worry about than Hiroki's grasp of English grammar.
hey spent the next hour plastering posters in key areas—near food stalls, blacksmith shops, the slums, anywhere people might be looking for help.
Shotaro worked with calm efficiency, selecting high-visibility spots and making sure the posters were secured properly. Hiroki, on the other hand, took a more aggressive approach—hammering nails with excessive force, occasionally getting into arguments with shop owners who weren't thrilled about random flyers appearing on their walls.
At one point, a vendor selling grilled squid shouted at them, shaking a greasy spatula.
"Oi! You can't just put that on my stall!"
Hiroki, mid-swing with the hammer, scowled. "Why the hell not?"
"Because I sell squid, not problems!"
With the last poster secured in place, Shotaro and Hiroki stood back, scanning the cityscape they had just plastered with their message.
And then… they waited.
"Hmmm…" Shotaro murmured.
Hiroki crossed his arms. "Hmmmmm…"
Shotaro squinted at the nearest poster. "Hmmmmmmmm…"
The air hung still, filled only with the distant hum of city life—the chatter of merchants closing their stalls, the flickering of paper lanterns swaying in the night breeze, and the occasional drunken laughter echoing through the alleys.
Then, as if summoned by their sheer boredom, the rhythmic clack of wooden sandals approached.
"Shotarooo~"
Hiroki visibly tensed, already recognizing the playful lilt in that voice.
Shotaro sighed, turning his head just as Yukari strolled toward them. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what kind of effect she had on people—hips swaying, long brown hair cascading over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief.
She stopped in front of them, placing a manicured hand on her hip. "I heard you're helping people now."
Shotaro exhaled. "Something like that."
A slow smile spread across her lips. "Well then… will you help me by stretching my insides?"
Hiroki choked. "WHAT THE FU—"
Before he could even finish, a blur of movement shot past him.
WHACK!
The next thing Yukari knew, a broom smacked her clean across the head, sending her stumbling sideways.
Rin stood behind her, wielding the broom like a warrior about to banish a demon. Her expression was flat, but her crimson-pink eyes burned with the exhausted patience of someone who had seen far too much.
"OUT," Rin said.
Yukari, rubbing her head, gave an exaggerated pout. "Aw, Rin, don't be so jealous~"
WHACK!
Another hit, this time directly to the back of the head.
"OUT."
Yukari giggled, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'm going." She cast one last glance at Shotaro, winking. "Offer still stands, though~"
Another WHACK! and Yukari was gone, disappearing into the night with a light laugh.
Rin let out a long, suffering sigh, resting the broom against her shoulder. "I swear, she's getting worse."
Shotaro took a calm sip of his tea. "We'll need a stronger broom next time."
Hiroki, still trying to process what had just happened, slowly nodded. "Yeah… good call."
But before they could settle into the silence—
"HIROKIIIIII!!!"
A sharp, grating voice cut through the night, echoing through the street.
Hiroki blinked. "…That sounded familiar."
Shotaro, still unfazed, exhaled through his nose. "It's Bird."
Hiroki tensed slightly. "Wait, Bird? As in—"
"The guy I threw into orbit once?" Shotaro clarified, tilting his head.
Hiroki's eye twitched. "The same guy who tormented me back in my fat era? Half a month ago?"
"Yeah."
There was a pause.
Hiroki exhaled slowly, then cracked his knuckles, his fingers tightening into a fist. "…I see."
Shotaro, watching him, set his tea down with a quiet clink. His crimson eyes, calm yet unwavering, met Hiroki's.
"Hiroki," Shotaro said evenly, "power is freedom."
Hiroki flinched slightly at the weight of those words.
Shotaro continued. "When he had more power than you, he had more freedom than you. And he used that freedom to torment the weak." His voice was steady, neither condemning nor condoning. "Now you have power. Use that freedom however you like."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Shotaro added, "But I'd suggest you don't become him."
Hiroki stood there, fists clenched, the echoes of his past colliding with the reality of the present.
Outside, the voice rang through the night once more.
"HIIROKIIII!! COME OUT, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
Hiroki exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "…Let's go see what Bird wants."
Stepping outside, they spotted the source of the shouting. Bird stood there, his shaggy light-brown hair a complete mess—like he had just rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to fix it. His sharp hazel eyes burned with whatever lingering grudge he was still clinging to.
But the moment his gaze landed on Hiroki, all that bravado crumbled.
His breath hitched.
Hiroki was no longer the fat, short punching bag he used to be. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and solid—just as big as Bird now, if not more.
Bird instinctively took another step back, his confidence cracking even further.
Hiroki smirked, arms crossed. "…Something wrong?"
Bird scowled, trying to regain his footing. "Why did you call me here?"
"He didn't call you," Shotaro said flatly. "I did, ratass."
Silence.
Hiroki blinked. "Excuse me, what the fuck?"
Bird frowned. "Excuse me, what the fuck?"
Rin's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me, what the fuck?"
From behind them, Yukari's voice chimed in, amused. "Excuse me, what the fuck?"
Hiroki whipped his head around. "What is Yukari doing here?"
Yukari shrugged, still lounging against the doorway. "What, I can't spectate? You guys looked like you were about to have a dramatic fight. Thought I'd grab some popcorn."
Rin groaned, rubbing her temples. "Why are you like this?"
Shotaro ignored the side chatter, his crimson eyes locked onto Bird. "Anyway, I want you to leave that group of yours and join the Red Eye Ronins as my left hand."
Hiroki's head snapped toward him. "Aniki, but he's a bully. A people-tormenting bastard," he said, his voice laced with disbelief. He still remembered what Bird had put him through. The humiliation. The kicks when he was down. The taunts that had made every day a struggle.
Shotaro didn't flinch. "What is good? What is evil?" His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. "They're defined by our actions when we have the freedom called power. True evil—" his eyes sharpened "—is the kind that abuses that freedom."
Bird swallowed, shifting slightly.
"True evil," Shotaro continued, his tone unwavering, "will never want to change." He let the words sink in, then finally added, "And what they want to change when they have power… isn't true evil."
Bird—no, Zenkichi Gojo—felt something tighten in his chest as he stood there, frozen under Shotaro's unwavering gaze.
For the first time in years, the mask he had worn so well—the sneering confidence, the arrogance, the bravado—began to slip. He wasn't standing here as 'Bird' anymore. He was standing here as Zenkichi, the boy who once dreamed of being someone greater than he was.
His mind drifted back.
His childhood.
His father wasn't a loser. He wasn't a drunk, nor a deadbeat, nor a failure. He was an honest man. A hard worker who ran his own electronics shop. He selled televisions, radios, computers—& also fixed anything people brought to him, he repaired with patience and skill. They weren't struggling. No, they were better than most. Their household sat comfortably above middle-class. They weren't poor.
But they weren't rich either.
And to a kid who sat in classrooms filled with the sons and daughters of real wealth—the kind of wealth that made money a non-factor in life—it felt like poverty.
That's where it started.
Zenkichi wanted to fit in. Desperately. To sit at the same tables, to be part of their world. But what did he have? He didn't have last-name prestige, no inheritance waiting for him, no family business raking in billions. But what he did have was a mind that could fabricate, exaggerate, and sell a fantasy.
So he started lying.
He was a rich kid. He was from a powerful family. His father wasn't just someone who sells TVs & fridge—no, he owned multiple electronic chains across the country. He had money, influence, power.
The other kids believed him.
For a while, it worked.
To seal the illusion, he ditched his real name. Zenkichi Gojo wasn't impressive enough, wasn't cool enough. So he picked something in English—something foreign, exotic, something that would make him stand out.
Bird.
It was the only complex English word he knew at the time. Simple, easy to remember, easy to brand himself with.
The name stuck.
The kids bought into it even harder. Bird, the wealthy kid. Bird, the one who came to school in a sleek, black luxury car. Never mind that it was just one car—his family's only indulgence, something his father saved years to afford. That detail didn't matter.
But then, the act started to wear thin.
The kids who once hung on his every word grew bored. The novelty of his supposed wealth faded. Other kids had money too—more money, real money.
And in that world, wealth alone didn't make you a king.
You needed something more.
So he adapted.
If being the rich kid wasn't enough to keep their attention, then he would become the dangerous kid. The one you feared.
He toughened up. Started fights. Became ruthless.
And when it came time to choose a target, he picked the easiest prey.
Hiroki.
The fat kid. The awkward kid. The one who wouldn't fight back.
Every push, every insult, every cruel joke—it wasn't just about Hiroki. It was about keeping his status. It was about proving to the people around him that he mattered. That he was someone they should follow.
And for a long time, it worked.
He was Bird, the top dog of his little kingdom.
The bathroom stalls? His throne room. The school corridors? His hunting grounds. The weak, the outcasts, the ones without status or power—his prey.
It had been so easy.
Too easy.
Hiroki had been just another name on the long list of people he pushed around, another fat loser who wouldn't fight back.
Until he showed up.
Shotaro Mugiwara.
At first, Bird barely paid attention to him. Just another transfer student, some new kid who would either learn his place or get crushed like the rest.
But Shotaro didn't play by any of the rules.
The moment Bird tried to mess with Hiroki that day in the bathroom, his entire world flipped—literally.
Shotaro grabbed him like he weighed nothing and launched him into the sky.
And not just a little.
Not just over a fence.
Not just onto a rooftop.
No—Shotaro sent him soaring past the school, past the city skyline, higher than any human had the right to go.
For a brief, horrifying moment, Bird felt weightless. The wind roared past his ears. The world below shrank to a miniature landscape. His stomach twisted, his heart pounded, and for the first time in his life—
He felt helpless.
No amount of money, status, or reputation could save him from the raw, terrifying force Shotaro had just displayed.
Everything he had built—his reputation, his power, his status—it was gone.
Shotaro wasn't just some 'new kid.' He was a force of nature, someone who didn't care about rank, wealth, or fear. He was the kind of guy who did whatever the hell he wanted without needing anyone's approval.
And Hiroki? Hiroki changed.
The same loser who used to run from Bird now stood tall. He had lost the weight. He had built confidence. And somehow, he ended up next to Shotaro.
Not because of money.
Not because of fear.
But because he was himself.
Meanwhile, Bird had spent his entire life chasing power, trying to be someone he wasn't. He had crafted a fake image, a mask, pretending to be something bigger than he was—just to fit into circles that never really mattered.
Le Chua, his 'girlfriend,' left him the second his image crumbled. The rich kids stopped treating him like a leader the second he lost his 'edge.'
And now, here he was.
Face to face with Shotaro and Hiroki—two guys who had nothing to prove.
Two guys who didn't care about status, money, or fake reputations.
Two guys who had no act.
And yet, somehow…
They were cooler than any of the rich-kid circles Bird had ever tried to impress.
For years, he had chased power, status, validation.
But standing here now, stripped of all that?
He finally understood.
Maybe… just maybe…
Bird exhaled, the weight of years pressing down on his chest. He clenched his fists, then relaxed them.
He had spent so much of his life chasing the wrong thing.
And for what?
A reputation?
A hollow image that crumbled the moment someone real showed up?
But maybe… maybe it wasn't too late.
Maybe he could still change.
He turned to Shotaro. His voice was steady. "Bring me a glass bottle."
Shotaro arched an eyebrow but didn't question it. He reached down, grabbing one of the countless empty beer bottles littered around Rin's district. With a casual toss, he handed it over.
Bird—no, Zenkichi Gojo—gripped the bottle tight.
Then, he turned to Hiroki.
The guy he had tormented for years.
The guy who, in his mind, had always been lesser.
The guy who now stood as his equal.
Zenkichi met his gaze, the weight of everything he had done pressing down on him. He took a deep breath.
"…Mazino. My actual name is Zenkichi Gojo."
Hiroki frowned, confused. "What?"
Then, before anyone could stop him—
CRASH.
The bottle shattered against his skull, glass flying in every direction as blood trickled down his face.
Hiroki's eyes widened in horror. "Wait—what the fuck are you doing?!"
Zenkichi didn't flinch. He didn't fall.
He just stood there, head bowed slightly, blood dripping from his temple, breathing.
Like a sinner at the altar.
Like a warrior accepting his punishment.
Like a man atoning.
Shotaro chuckled, watching the scene unfold. His smirk was almost proud. "He's asking for forgiveness."
Hiroki was still processing when Shotaro reached down, grabbing another empty bottle.
"And I have to help him with it."
Hiroki barely had time to react before—
CRASH.
Shotaro smashed the bottle against his own head.
Glass exploded. Blood ran down his face. His silver hair, already wild, became streaked with crimson.
And yet, like Zenkichi—
He stood firm.
Hiroki stared.
He stared.
At Zenkichi. At Shotaro. At the blood on their faces, the broken glass around their feet.
It was insane.
It was insane.
But somehow, it made sense.
Zenkichi Gojo—the guy who once ruined his life—was standing there, bloody and broken, because he wanted to make things right.
Shotaro Mugiwara—the guy who changed everything—stood beside him, laughing, like this was just another day in his life.
And Hiroki?
For the first time in a long time…
He wasn't scared anymore.
The years of humiliation. The torment. The helplessness.
All of it flashed through his mind.
But then—
He remembered Shotaro's words.
"Power is freedom. When he had more power than you, he had more freedom than you, and he used that freedom to torment the weak. Now you have power; use that freedom however you like… but I would suggest you don't become him."
Hiroki inhaled.
Then—
He grabbed a bottle.
He clenched it tight.
And he swung.
CRASH.
The glass shattered against his skull, pain exploding through his head, blood trickling down his forehead.
And for the first time in years, he looked Bird—Zenkichi—in the eye without fear.
Zenkichi's breath hitched.
Shotaro grinned.
For a moment, the three of them just stood there.
Bloodied.
Bruised.
Surrounded by broken glass.
And somehow…
Smiling.
Because at that moment—
Everything was settled.
There was no more bullying.
No more past.
Only now.
Only this.
A fresh start.
Zenkichi wiped the blood from his face and let out a shaky chuckle. "Goddamn. That hurt."
Hiroki huffed. "No shit."
Shotaro stretched, cracking his neck. "You guys are so dramatic."
Yukari gave them a slow clap. "Ten out of ten performance. Would watch again."
Rin, still watching, sighed. "You're cleaning up this mess."
Zenkichi wiped his brow, grinning.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't acting.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't trying to prove anything.
And for the first time in his life—
He had real friends
Rin stared at the absolute mess in front of her—three bloodied idiots, grinning like lunatics, surrounded by shattered glass.
For a long, long moment, she just stood there, her eye twitching, fingers pressing against her temple like she was trying to physically push the headache away.
Then, with a long, suffering sigh, she turned on her heel and stomped off.
A minute later, she was back, dragging a massive medical kit behind her.
She slammed it onto the nearest table and glared at the three of them. "You absolute morons."
Shotaro, still wiping blood off his face with the back of his hand, looked entirely unbothered. "Hey, you brought the big kit. Nice."
Hiroki groaned as he felt a sharp sting from the gash on his forehead. "Why did I go along with this?"
"Because you're one of us now," Zenkichi said, cracking a grin despite the blood dripping down his temple.
Rin ignored them, pulling out disinfectants and bandages, her frustration reaching critical levels.
"Weird ways boys make friends nowadays," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
Yukari, still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, let out a low whistle. "Damn it… there is something seriously wrong with the Y chromosome."
She had been around long enough to witness some of the dumbest things humanity had to offer, but this? This was on a whole new level of stupid.
She was both impressed and horrified.
"Like, seriously," she continued, gesturing at them. "You guys headbutted glass. On purpose. What part of your caveman brains thought, 'Yeah, this is a great idea'?"
Zenkichi, now that he had time to process what happened, started laughing. "It was kinda dumb, huh?"
Rin ripped open an alcohol wipe, grabbed his face roughly, and slammed it against his wound.
"AAAHH—FUCK, THAT BURNS!"
"Oh, does it?!" Rin snapped, pressing down even harder as she aggressively disinfected his forehead.
Zenkichi struggled to pull away, but she had a death grip on his chin. "I—I'm sorry, okay?! I was just—OW OW OW—trying to make up for my sins!"
Rin gave him the deadliest glare imaginable. "If you wanted to atone, pray. Don't shatter glass on your head like a Neanderthal!"
Shotaro, already patched up thanks to his stupidly strong healing factor, just sipped his tea like none of this was his problem.
Hiroki, now realizing he also had to go through the medical treatment, was trying to subtly inch away.
Rin caught him.
"Oh no, you don't."
Before he could escape, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward.
He let out a panicked yelp. "Rin—WAIT, WAIT—"
SPLAT.
The alcohol wipe made contact.
Hiroki nearly saw the face of God.
"AAAHHHHH—HOLY SHIT, THAT'S PURE PAIN!"
Rin didn't even blink. "Good. That means it's working."
Yukari watched, fascinated. "This is the natural order of things. The boys do something colossally stupid, and the responsible women in their lives clean up the mess."
Shotaro, still casually drinking his tea, finally spoke. "To be fair, I had fun."
Rin threw the used alcohol wipes at his face.
Shotaro just blinked as they slid off. "...Fair."
Zenkichi, still wincing, let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Never doing that again."
Hiroki, panting like he just ran a marathon, weakly nodded. "Yeah… definitely never doing that again."
Shotaro took another sip. "Yeah, right."
Zenkichi glanced at him. "...Yeah, right."
Hiroki sighed. "...Yeah, right."
Rin groaned, stuffing the last of the medical supplies back into the kit. "If I see any of you try this again, I'm finishing the job the glass started."
Yukari nodded in agreement. "And that I'd pay to see."
Despite the blood, the bruises, and the dumbest display of male bonding she had ever witnessed…
Somehow, Rin knew.
Hiroki, still holding a bloodied cloth to his forehead, suddenly perked up.
"Hey, Shotaro, look—our blood mixed into the same puddle!"
Shotaro glanced down. Sure enough, the floor beneath them had a small, smeared pool of red—Hiroki's, Zenkichi's, and his own, all blending together in a mess of post-headbutt stupidity.
Zenkichi, despite still wincing from the sting of Rin's first-aid brutality, grinned. "That means we're brothers now!"
Shotaro raised an eyebrow. "...How does that work?"
Zenkichi threw an arm over Hiroki's shoulder, gesturing dramatically at the puddle like it was a sacred blood pact. "You see, back in ancient times, warriors would mix their blood to form an unbreakable bond! A brotherhood forged in battle! A lifelong connection that—"
Shotaro tilted his head. "So you're saying every guy who's ever been in the same war is technically blood-related?"
Zenkichi hesitated. "Uh… Well, no, but—"
Shotaro pointed at the ground. "And you're saying we're now blood brothers because of this completely accidental and unsanitary mixture of open wounds on a dirty-ass street?"
Zenkichi blinked. "...Yes."
Hiroki nodded enthusiastically. "Yes."
Shotaro stared at them.
Then he slowly lifted his teacup, took a sip, and set it down.
"...I'm gonna be honest, that sounds dumb as hell."
Zenkichi clutched his chest in mock pain. "Bro, come on! We just had a whole bonding moment, and you're just gonna logic me like that?!"
Hiroki shook his head in disappointment. "You really don't get it, Aniki."
Shotaro sipped his tea again. "I do get it. It's just stupid."
Zenkichi scoffed. "And what, you think your way of making friends is better? Mister Throws-People-Into-Orbit-On-Sight?"
Shotaro thought about it. "...Yes."
Zenkichi groaned. "You're impossible."
Yukari, still watching this circus from the side, let out a snort. "Honestly, I think all of you are impossible."
Rin sighed, rubbing her temples. "For real. How did this even turn into a thing?"
Shotaro placed a hand on Zenkichi's shoulder and gave a slight smirk. "Because boys are stupid."
Zenkichi and Hiroki gave a solemn nod.
"That… is correct."
"Yeah. Can't even argue."
Rin exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "…At least you know."
Shotaro nodded, completely unfazed, before casually declaring, "Alright, I get that we're brothers now, but just so we're clear—I'm the oldest."
Hiroki and Zenkichi immediately protested.
"How?!" Hiroki blurted out, still pressing an ice pack to his forehead.
"Yeah, what the hell, I should be the oldest!" Zenkichi added, crossing his arms.
Shotaro took another sip of tea before explaining, "Simple. I was born in January. Hiroki was born in August. And you…?"
Zenkichi hesitated before mumbling, "…May."
Shotaro smirked. "See? I win."
There was a brief silence as Hiroki and Zenkichi processed this ridiculous yet somehow completely logical ranking system.
"So that means…?" Hiroki muttered.
Shotaro leaned back, looking smug. "That means I'm the big brother, Zenkichi's the middle child, and you—" he pointed at Hiroki, "—are the baby."
Hiroki's face twisted in immediate betrayal. "The hell I am!"
Zenkichi laughed, slapping Hiroki on the back. "Sorry, little bro, but them's the rules."
"I refuse to be the youngest!" Hiroki yelled, pointing accusingly at Shotaro. "This system is rigged! Just because you came out of the womb first doesn't mean you automatically get to be the big brother!"
Shotaro shrugged. "That's literally exactly what it means."
Hiroki turned to Zenkichi. "Don't tell me you're just gonna accept this!"
Zenkichi thought about it for a second before nodding. "Eh. Middle child is fine. No responsibilities, no pressure. I can live with it."
Shotaro smirked. "That's the spirit."
Hiroki threw his arms up in frustration. "You're both idiots."
Shotaro placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you're our little idiot."
Hiroki groaned loudly as Zenkichi ruffled his hair. "Welcome to the family, baby bro."
Rin and Yukari, watching this absolute nonsense unfold, exchanged a look.
"…They're just making up a whole-ass sibling hierarchy now?" Yukari asked.
Rin sighed, shaking her head. "I've given up trying to understand them."
Shotaro, completely ignoring her exasperation, turned to Zenkichi with a casual nod. "Alright then. Bird—Zenkichi—you're our gang's flag bearer."
Zenkichi blinked. "Huh?"
"Damn it!" Hiroki immediately whined. "I wanted to be the flag bearer! Aniki, what the hell?"
Shotaro sipped his tea like an old war veteran bestowing wisdom upon the youth. "Listen, nut—"
"Don't call me nut."
"—I just think Zenkichi holding the flag would look more menacing. You know, considering those goofy-ass tattoos he's got going on."
At that, all eyes turned to Zenkichi, who instinctively rubbed the back of his head. The tattoos in question? A bat, a hammer, and a skeleton that was supposed to look cool and menacing but mostly just looked like an edgy PNG he downloaded from some sketchy website.
"…They're badass," Zenkichi mumbled.
"They're stupid," Shotaro corrected.
"Why do you even have a hammer tattoo?" Rin asked, looking him up and down.
Zenkichi sighed. "Look, back when I was trying to be the 'bad guy,' I had no idea what I was doing. I just picked whatever seemed tough."
Shotaro nodded. "Exactly. And that's why it works. The guy looks like a walking middle school notebook doodle, but to the untrained eye, he screams, 'I'll break your legs for five bucks and a pack of cigarettes.' Perfect for a flag bearer."
Hiroki groaned. "This is rigged. You're playing favorites."
Shotaro gave him a deadpan stare. "No, I'm playing intelligence. You? Holding the flag? People would think we're a group of traveling salesmen."
"Hey, fuck you."
Zenkichi, meanwhile, was still processing the situation. "Wait… so I just—carry the flag? That's my job?"
Shotaro nodded sagely. "And wave it menacingly."
"Wave it menacingly," Zenkichi repeated, as if confirming his fate.
Yukari leaned in toward Rin. "They're serious about this, huh?"
A loud rustling noise came from the estate building.
Then—out of the shadows—crawled a massive, six-legged horror. A cockroach.
No. Not just a cockroach.
A big fucking cockroach.
The thing was the size of a grown man, its glossy brown shell gleaming under the light. Antennae twitched. Mandibles clicked. It scuttled forward, its many legs moving in a way that was just wrong to look at.
"AHH, A BIG FUCKING COCKROACH!!" Zenkichi shrieked, jumping back like he'd just seen the grim reaper tap-dancing toward him.
"HEY, IT'S A BEETLE!" Shotaro corrected, sounding genuinely offended.
Zenkichi snapped his head toward him. "THAT'S NOT A BEETLE, THAT'S A NIGHTMARE!"
Meanwhile, Rin and Hiroki stood completely unfazed, watching the scene unfold with the same energy as someone watching a rerun of a sitcom.
"Yo, Greg," Shotaro called out casually, as if the literal eldritch horror of a bug wasn't currently traumatizing Zenkichi, "you want your feed again?"
The big fucking cockroach—or beetle, depending on whose side you were on—made a low clicking sound and simply took the food Shotaro offered it.
Zenkichi, still not over the existence of this abomination, stared in horror. "WHAT. IS. THAT."
"A living, breathing man," Shotaro said, almost annoyed at the question. "Don't call him an 'it.'"
"…Man?"
"Yes."
"That's a big fucking cockroach."
Shotaro sighed. "He was once a man."
Silence.
"…Once?" Zenkichi echoed, now even more horrified.
"He was Gregor Samsa," Shotaro explained. "A merchant."
Zenkichi frowned. The name tickled something in his brain. Something from his very limited knowledge of literature.
"Wait," he muttered. "Gregor Samsa… that dude from Metamorphosis?"
Shotaro raised an eyebrow. "You know Franz Kafka?"
Hiroki, who had been silent until now, suddenly snapped his head toward Bird like he just grew a second head.
Hiroki squinted at Zenkichi like he had just witnessed a miracle. "You read?!"
"HEY, FUCK YOU."
Shotaro, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered by their antics, too busy inspecting Greg's antennae like he was checking up on a pet.
Zenkichi, still trying to process what the hell he was looking at, turned back to him. "Hold up. How the fuck is a character from some old-ass book real?"
"Legend Sphere," Shotaro said simply.
"…What?"
Shotaro sighed, as if he had explained this a million times before. "Alright, listen up. The Legend Sphere is a plane of existence beyond our own. It's basically a Vodrel Cardinal—a higher-dimensional conceptual domain—where humanity's collective legends, stories, and myths take form."
Zenkichi blinked. "The fuck does that mean?"
"It means," Hiroki cut in, "that if enough people know about something, it becomes real in the Legend Sphere."
Zenkichi stared at them, then at Greg, then back at them. "Wait. So, anything can manifest there?"
"Yeah," Shotaro nodded. "Anything. As long as a certain threshold of people are aware of it."
Zenkichi took a deep breath. "So you're telling me… any video game character, novel protagonist, historical figure, mythological god, visual novel waifu, creepypasta monster, analog horror entity, or some obscure-ass ARG character could just… exist?"
Shotaro shrugged. "Yeah. If they're famous enough."
Zenkichi's brain short-circuited for a second.
"…And Greg here?" He pointed at the giant fucking bug.
Shotaro patted Greg's shell like a proud dad. "Someone summoned him from the Legend Sphere but then threw him out 'cause, y'know… big fucking cockroach-I mean bettle."
"…Yeah, I get that."
"So I took him in," Shotaro continued. "Figured, why not? I mean, it's not every day you get to be best friends with Gregor Samsa, the OG tragic protagonist."
Hiroki folded his arms. "Technically, wouldn't that make him an reject?"
"…Damn." Shotaro looked at Greg with newfound sympathy.
Greg clicked his mandibles mournfully.
"Anyway, we need someone to design a flag," Shotaro said.
Hiroki blinked. "Wait… you mean you didn't even figure out what we're going by, Aniki?"
Shotaro crossed his arms. "Hey, this whole gang thing is my first time, alright? I've been winging it."
"Jesus," Hiroki muttered, rubbing his temples.
"Can I draw one?" Bird suddenly asked.
Shotaro and Hiroki turned to him in unison.
"Wait," Hiroki said, squinting at Bird like he'd just confessed to being a time traveler. "You can draw?"
The disbelief in his voice was so raw that Bird actually looked a little offended.
"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"
Hiroki pointed at him. "Dude, you bullied me for years. You never once struck me as the 'artistic' type. What, were you secretly sketching in your little bully notebook between beating my ass?"
Bird scoffed. "First of all, it wasn't a 'bully notebook,' it was a journal—"
"OH MY GOD."
"—And second, yeah, I can fucking draw. You think looking cool just happens? Nah, bro, I planned my whole aesthetic. I had to sketch the fit, the tattoos, the hair—"
Shotaro raised a hand. "Wait. Hold up. You're telling me those goofy-ass tattoos on your arms? The skeleton, the hammer, and—" He squinted. "Is that a fucking bat?"
Bird glanced at his own arm.
"…Listen, I was going through a phase, okay? I thought they'd make me look badass."
"They make you look like a Yakuza who got scammed at a theme park," Hiroki said.
Shotaro nodded. "Yeah, like you went in asking for a dragon and the artist was like, 'Sorry, best I can do is Clip Art.'"
Bird's eye twitched. "Do you want the fucking flag or not?"
Shotaro leaned against the table, watching as Bird hunched over a scrap of paper, sketching away with surprising focus.
"Alright, let's see what you've got, Official Flag Designer," Shotaro said with a grin.
Bird didn't even glance up. "Let me work, man. Art takes time."
Shotaro chuckled but then felt something weird at the bottom of his school bag. He reached in and pulled out a dark purple-ish book with bold white letters across the cover.
"SATAN WAS INNOCENT."
He stared at it. Blinked. Flipped it over.
Then slowly, slowly turned his gaze to Bird.
"Bird," Shotaro said in a voice that was far too calm. "What the fuck is this?"
Bird stiffened. His pencil stopped mid-stroke. He turned his head just enough to see what Shotaro was holding—and his face paled as if he'd been caught committing high treason.
"A-ah, th-that? That's nothing, man. Just some old—"
"Don't bullshit me, Zenkichi." Shotaro's tone sharpened, his crimson eyes narrowing like a disappointed parent. "You—you own this? You actually spent money on this?"
Bird opened his mouth, but Shotaro wasn't done.
"Anything. Anything else, and I could have forgiven you," Shotaro continued, voice rising with righteous fury. "If I found Playboy? Whatever. The Communist Manifesto? Sure. Asian Babes Monthly? Understandable. Savita Bhabhie?. cool Even—even some sketchy-ass hentai doujin like 'Lemon People'—I would have let that slide."
Hiroki, who had been sipping on a soda nearby, choked. "Wait, what the fuck is Lemon Peop—"
"But this?This?!" Shotaro jabbed the book at Bird like it personally insulted his ancestors. "This is where I draw the goddamn line!"
Bird fumbled, scrambling for an explanation. "L-look, man, I was trying to act rich my whole life, alright? I thought if I bought some intellectual-sounding garbage like this, people would think I was sophisticated!"
Shotaro gawked at him. "Sophisticated?! Bro, even some dude in the poorest slum of a fifth-world country wouldn't buy this trash—not even to wipe his baby's shit-covered ass!"
Hiroki wheezed. Rin, who had been tuning them out, suddenly looked over in concern.
Bird ran a hand through his hair, face flushed. "Okay, okay, I get it! I was young and stupid!"
Shotaro held up the book again. "This shit was published, like, last year."
Bird groaned and slammed his head onto the table. "I hate my life."
Shotaro tossed the book aside with pure disgust. "Good. Learn from this."
Hiroki, still gasping for air, wiped away a tear. "Holy shit, Bird, I think that's the worst thing I've ever learned about you."
Bird, face still buried in the table, groaned. "Shut up, man."
Shotaro picked up the book again, turning it over as if expecting it to suddenly justify its own existence. "Satan could have been innocent, I dunno…" he muttered. Then, after a beat, his face twisted with sheer revulsion. "But after the release of this red-pilled, cringe, edgy filth? I am fucking sure he isn't."
Somewhere deep in the bowels of Hell—
A shadowed throne room trembled. The heat from the infernal flames dimmed as a dark figure leaned forward, his crimson eyes narrowing. A massive, clawed hand reached out, summoning a swirling portal of fire.
And there, before the Prince of Darkness himself—
A screen hovered in the air, playing back the scene. Shotaro Mugiwara. Holding that book. Uttering those words.
The Lord of Hell, the Adversary, the Fallen Morningstar himself—Satan—stared.
"…Are Pitai Mangra"
The underworld quaked as the King of Demons threw a full-on, actual tantrum, flipping his throne over in rage.
Lesser demons scrambled for cover. Cerberus whimpered. The rivers of lava boiled harder.
Meanwhile, back on Earth—
Shotaro chucked the book straight into a dumpster with enough force to shake the metal. "Trash."
Bird, still slumped over the table, muttered, "I hate my life…"
Rin crossed her arms, exhaling sharply. "I give up trying to understand you guys."
But before she could walk off and leave the idiots to their nonsense, Bird suddenly straightened up, holding something in his hands.
"Behold!" he declared, dramatically unfurling a white flag.
On it, written in bold red fonts, were the words:
レッドアイロビンス (Red-Eye Ronins).
And beneath it—
A slightly tilted black Manji.
Shotaro's eye twitched. "Zenkichi… you retard."
Bird blinked. "What? What did I do?"
Shotaro, Hiroki, and Rin all stared at him.
"You tilted the Manji," Shotaro said slowly. "Now it looks like the Nazi symbol."
Bird's soul visibly left his body. "Oh fuck."
Hiroki wheezed. "This dumbass just made us look like a white supremacist dojo."
Rin slapped her forehead. "I knew you were stupid, but this is a whole new level."
Bird, frantically, "I CAN FIX IT—"
Shotaro sighed.
He looked at the flag, at the slight shake in Bird's hands, at the tiny, stupid, proud smile struggling to stay on his face.
This idiot actually worked hard on it.
For once, Bird had put effort into something that wasn't posturing, acting rich, or trying to be someone he wasn't.
Shotaro rubbed his temples. "...Fuck it. It's fine."
Bird perked up. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah." Shotaro shrugged. "Not our fault dumbasses don't know the difference. Plus, you actually tried for once, so… whatever."
Bird looked like he might cry. "You guys are the best."
Hiroki buried his face in his hands. "We're going to get hate-crimed, I just know it."
Shotaro smirked. "Kinda ironic, though."
Hiroki peeked up through his fingers. "What is?"
"Japan was more of a war criminal than Nazi Germany."
Silence.
Bird coughed. "Huh?"
"It's just hidden in the education system," Shotaro continued casually, as if he weren't dropping a historical war crime bomb mid-conversation. "You ever read about Unit 731? Comfort women? Nanjing?"
Rin, from across the room, pointed a kitchen knife at him. "I swear to every god that has ever existed, Mugiwara, if you start dumping about war atrocities in the middle of flag-making, I will gut you."
Shotaro held up his hands. "I'm just saying!"*
"DON'T JUST SAY IT!!" Hiroki shouted.
Bird wiped a tear, nodding. "This is why we need this flag… to reclaim history—"
"Shut the fuck up, Bird." Shotaro, Hiroki, and Rin all said in unison.