In front of a newly opened garage and modification workshop in Seoul, a glossy black car rolled to a stop, its engine cutting off with a soft growl. The driver's door swung open, and Gun Yamazaki stepped out, flicking a lighter to spark a cigarette between his lips. He wore a yellow striped shirt tucked into dark slacks, a pricey scarf hanging loose around his neck, the whole outfit screaming wealth and taste designer brands, dark fashion, the kind of look that turned heads.
Tall and lean, yet packed with wiry muscle, he moved with a quiet confidence, his hair shaved tight on the sides but long on top, slicked back smooth and sharp. His reverse eyes, black with white pupils, glinted under the streetlights as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, sizing up the garage with a smirk that hinted at secrets he wasn't sharing. This wasn't just some random shop it was Toji's new spot.
He pushed the door open, stepping into a small office cluttered with papers and tools, a black sofa shoved against one wall, and a TV blaring a horse race. There he was: Toji Yamazaki, sprawled out on the sofa like some resting animal, his massive frame stretching long across the cushions. Nearly six-foot-eight, he was a tower of lean muscle, a perfect mix of agility and brute strength, his body built for fighting and killing, s perfect specimen by all means.
He wore a black oversized t-shirt over crisp white pants, casual but striking, his jet-black hair falling messy around his face. Those green eyes eyes flicked from the TV to Gun, looking bored out of his mind, like he'd rather be napping than talking. Gun leaned against the doorframe, taking a drag off his cigarette. "Didn't expect you to lose interest this fast," he said, his voice cool and edged with a jab.
Toji barely moved, just tilted his head, his deep voice dragging out slow. "How do you like it now you've experienced it?" He sounded half-dead, half-teasing.
Gun smirked, stepping closer, extending the cigarette toward Toji, who took it slow without even glancing, pinching it between his fingers and puffing out a lazy cloud of smoke. "Can't blame you," Gun said, watching the smoke drift up. In his head, he thought about the last few months. Toji had been stuck dealing with sneaky guys trying to stab him in the back, little rebellions popping up everywhere.
Gun got why Toji didn't liked to mess around. Kill the snakes before they bite, right? In their world, there was no honor, no soft feelings, no fair play. The strong guy made the rules, and that was that. Gun sighed, sitting on the sofa, his thoughts drifting darker. Money, women, power...it was all boring without a real fight, a strong bastard to stand toe-to-toe with. Without that, what was there to win? Nothing worth a damn, that's what.
For people like Gun and Toji it was in there blood to seek out strong opponents, to surprass their limits, be the strongest in the food chain which is both a curse and boon according to the person.
Toji scratched his neck, staring at the TV. "Can you get me some gold?" he asked, out of the blue. Gun laughed, short and sharp. "What? Why do you need gold from me? You lose it all gambling or what?" Toji started sweating, his hand pausing mid-scratch.
Gun narrowed his eyes. "Did you?" he asked again. Toji wiped his forehead, sweat dripping now, and Gun shook his head. He knew it—Toji and gambling went together like fire and dry grass.
"Did you?" Gun pressed, his tone dropping low, and Toji sighed loud, wiping his face with his sleeve, sweat smearing as he dodged the question. Gun shook his head, smirking, but let it slide. They settled into a quiet stretch, the TV flipping from the horse race to some loud Japanese comedy show whichToji loved.
He slumped deeper into the sofa, giggling like a kid at the dumb gags, his big frame shaking with each laugh. Gun watched him, arms crossed, watched him, thinking how strange this guy was. Toji could kill a man with a spoon if he wanted, slice a neck clean and quick before he could realize what even happened.
He sighed... He'd met plenty of freaks in Korea, like that one guy who could slice a throat with a toothpick and lived for cash, but Toji's gambling addiction almost felt normal next to other freaks hobbies he knew... and there was special category for people like him...the Lunatics.
Then the door creaked open behind them, and Gun's head turned, his smirk fading as a familiar face stepped in.
It was her...the girl who' made Toji to take that deal back in Japan, the weakness of Toji... Komi. She stood there, clutching a whiskey bottle in one hand, two glasses in the other, her dark hair tied back messy, her big eyes darting nervous between them. Her face flushed red, and she stuttered out,
"W-would he join us for dinner too?" Her voice was soft, shaky, aimed at Toji, who glanced at Gun sitting beside him on the sofa. Toji glanced at Gun, who nodded from the sofa. Toji nodded back at her. She flashed a clumsy thumbs-up, set the bottle and glasses on the table in front of Toji, then bolted out fast, forgetting to close the door behind her.
Gun straightened up, looking at Toji who poured a little to the glass for Gun while he started to drink from the bottle itself and burping after finishing a quarter in a single go. "Why are you here now?" he asked, straight to the point, staring at Toji, who was still glued to the screen.
Toji picked his ear with his pinky, shrugging lazy. "I dunno, just felt like it," he said, flicking whatever he dug out onto the floor, not even glancing at Gun.
Gun's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push it just filed it away, letting it sit. They moved to a low table in the garage's back room, a decent setup with polished wood and tatami sheet and sliding japanese doors, where Komi had laid out traditional food steaming rice, miso soup, grilled fish, pickled veggies. The place looked good compared to the one back in japan, like Toji had sunk whatever cash he hadn't gambled away into here.
They started eating, chopsticks clacking soft, and Komi hovered nearby, filling Toji's plate with more rice, pouring water into his glass like she'd done it forever. Gun watched her, Komi moved around them, piling food on Toji's plate, pouring water like she'd done it a hundred times.
The food was tasty, hot and sharp on the tongue, but Gun had eaten better stuff before. So what was Toji's deal with her? Was it her face? She was pretty, with soft skin and big, nervous eyes. Or was she like a pet to him, something he kept close for fun? No way. Not for Toji, not with the blood running inside him, that drive to dominate anything that caught their eye, that unquenchable need to crush strong opponents...the Yamazaki pride. Love didn't fit for him. She looked nervous, maybe pissed, whenever her eyes flicked to Gun, but with Toji, she was calm, easy, like he was home to her and Toji behaved weird too he was too relaxed than he was with Gun.
Gun thought in his mind seeing this unfold before him, 'Should I kill his weekness?'...'How wild he will become then?'...
Dinner wrapped up smooth, quiet except for Toji's loud chewing and the occasional grunt. Gun finished, brushing off his shirt, and stood, saying goodbye to his brother. "Good seeing you, brother. Welcome to Korea," he said with a smirk, tossing a black brooch toward Toji, who caught it slick between two fingers.
Gun headed to his car, pausing to glance back at the garage one last time, its neon sign buzzing in the Seoul night. Toji settling down? Impossible. Him and Gun, they shared the same Yamazaki blood....that same curse, that hunger, the endless itch to fight, to win, a bane or a gift depending on the one who bear. He smirked, shaking his head, then felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw the number—Charles Choi, his employer, his current boss which he picked for some interest.
"Hello," Gun said, voice flat, lighting another cigarette as he leaned against the car.
"Where are you?" Charles's voice snapped through, sharp and impatient.
"Went for dinner," Gun replied, exhaling smoke into the cool air.
"Okay, I need you here quick—the plans have changed." Charles hung up without another word, the line going dead, and Gun stared at the phone, his smirk fading into something harder.
Some month's back Toji has called Gun to let him know that Kuro Oni is going to die soon, It surprised him to know he got bored too quickly or did he find something else more exiting?, But Toji showing up here in Korea didn't seem that unplanned and with Toji here Gun will have to change a lot in his plans.
Inside the garage, Toji stood in front of a small, scratched-up mirror by the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,. Komi stepped up beside him, holding out a towel. Toji grabbed it, rubbing his face rough and quick, then tossed it over her shoulder like it was no big deal. His face changed, going dark and serious as he looked down at the black brooch in his hand—the one Gun had thrown him earlier. He turned it over, feeling its weight. Korea is very interesting, he thought, his lips twitching into a half-smile. Seoul was loud and alive, different from Japan. New fights, new chances to mess around. He liked it already.
Komi tapped his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up her phone, showing him a picture. "Jae Won High School," Toji read out loud, squinting at the screen. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna study here?" She nodded fast, her eyes big and eager. "Why? There's lots of good schools. Private ones with fancy stuff, better care. Why this one?" She scrolled on her phone, showing him more. Toji leaned in, reading slow. The text said Jae Won High School—J High for short—offered practical training and work programs, not just boring book stuff like normal schools. Students got more freedom too. Ninety percent of the Fashion Department kids changed their uniforms to look cool. The Practical Music kids all had instruments. The Beauty Department could dye their hair wild colors. Toji grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, my Komi, you wanna dye your hair?" He put a hand on his face, laughing soft. "A gothic version of you? That'd be real interesting."
Komi waved her hands fast, shaking her head like crazy. "No, no! I wanna study fashion!" she said, her voice quick and loud. Toji stopped laughing, nodding slow. "Okay, okay. I'll arrange it," he said, shrugging like it was nothing. She smiled, small but real, and put her phone away. Toji looked at her for a second, then turned back to the mirror.
Toji walked back to the sofa, dropping onto it with a thud. He picked up the whiskey bottle from the table, pouring a glass. Komi sat nearby, folding her hands in her lap. "Korea's different," he said, taking a sip." If any shit comes up tell me"She nodded, listening quiet. "You like it here?" he asked, glancing at her. She shrugged, then nodded again. "It's okay. New," she said soft. Toji smirked.
Komi got up from her chair, walking to the corner of the small office in the garage. She grabbed a broom, its handle scratched and worn, and started sweeping the floor. She moved slow, dragging the bristles across the concrete, kicking up little clouds of dust. Toji sat on the sofa, watching her over the rim of his whiskey glass. He took a sip, the burn sliding down his throat, and kept his eyes on her. She was quiet, focused, like sweeping was the most important thing right now. After a minute, he leaned forward a bit. "Why fashion?" he asked, voice rough but curious.
She stopped, leaning on the broom with both hands. Her eyes dropped to the floor, like she was shy to say it. "I like making stuff," she said soft, almost a whisper. "It's mine." Toji tilted his head, glass resting on his knee. "Yours, huh? Not bad," he said, nodding once. He didn't say more, just took another sip. Artsy stuff didn't click for him—sewing, drawing, all that. He didn't get it. But wanting something for yourself? That he understood. Fighting was his thing—killing, smashing people's pride, breaking them down. It's what he was good at, what he lived for. He only knew how to destroy stuff. That's how he was built, after all—a monster made by the Yamazaki Syndicate, raised on blood and corpses.
His mind started drifting, thoughts spinning dark. Memories he hated crept up, ones he tried to bury deep. Blood on his hands, corpse hanging infront of him... breaking his bones his eyes started to darken as the alcohol unlocked the memories.
Then he felt it—two small hands wrapping around him from behind. Komi's arms slid over his shoulders, soft but firm, hugging him tight. Her hands rested on his head, fingers brushing his messy black hair. Toji froze, breath catching. The darkness stopped, like her touch pushed it back. He didn't move, didn't say anything, just sat there, feeling her warmth against his back. She didn't speak either, just held him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. The broom leaned against the sofa now, forgotten. The garage was quiet, just the hum of the TV in the background, some dumb show he wasn't watching anymore.
Toji let out a slow breath, setting the glass on the table. "What's this for?" he asked, voice low, rougher than he meant. Komi didn't answer right away. She tightened her hug a little, then said, "You looked sad." He smirked, small and bitter. "Sad? Me?" He tried to laugh it off, but it didn't come out right. She didn't let go, just stayed there, holding him like he might break if she didn't. Maybe he would. He didn't know. The memories still lingered—blood, fights, the Syndicate—but her hands kept them from swallowing him whole.
He leaned back into her, just a bit, letting her hold him up. "You're weird," he muttered, closing his eyes. She giggled, soft and quick, her breath tickling his neck. "You're weirder," she said back.
He snorted, opening one eye to glance at her. Her face was close, all soft lines and big eyes, no fear in them. That was new. Most people looked at him like he was a bomb about to blow an unchained monster... but not her. She saw the monster in him and stayed anyway.