Long before the rooftop, before the academy, before the quiet sighs and the sarcastic drawls—there was only a kid.
A kid who had been praised for his brilliant mind.
A kid who was told he could solve any problem.
A kid who could do everything he set his eyes on.
But a kid all the same.
A kid who had wanted something as simple as a family, only to be left all alone. Outcast. Shoved into the corner of a world that had no space for him, except in the shadows.
It was only natural.
He was the son of a Yakuza boss.
Not just any syndicate. The one with its hands wrapped so tightly around the throat of the world that even the brightest halls of society whispered its name with fear.
Even as a child, Akuma had seen it all.
He had seen the desperate come crawling to his family's doors, offering their pride in exchange for survival.
He had seen the crushed faces of those who failed to pay back.
He had seen dreams turned into debts. Debts turned into punishments. Punishments turned into corpses.
Some of those plans—cold, simple, efficient—had been his own ideas.
He hadn't understood the consequences then.
Not really.
But he had seen the outcomes.
And the outcomes stayed with him.
So he asked himself, over and over again:
"What am I good for?"
Was he a prodigy?
Was he a successor?
Was he just a shadow wearing a boy's skin?
Who was even Akuma?
He carried that question like a weight, pressing down on his back through every quiet morning, every restless night. He carried it through the smell of smoke and blood, through the clink of glasses in Yakuza halls, through the endless lessons in how to inherit a kingdom of crime.
And then, when he was eighteen… something happened.
An Uma walked through the doors of the family estate.
Her name is blurred in his memory now, a face almost gone with time. But he remembers the hair. Purple. He remembers the way her ears twitched nervously. He remembers her eyes—not desperate like the others who came before her, but burning with something else.
Hope.
She wanted to race. She wanted the strength, the power, the skill to make her family proud.
For the first time in his life, Akuma felt something stir inside of him. A warmth that wasn't greed or calculation. A fire that wasn't lit by cruelty.
His father's eyes had lit up too, though not for the same reason. To him, she was another investment. Another tool to turn into money, influence, control. Another shining star to cage in the shadows.
But Akuma moved first.
He stepped between his father and the Uma.
He looked her in the eyes.
And he said words that surprised even himself.
"You already have everything you need. Strength. Skill. Heart. You don't need us. You'll shine on your own. And if we touched you… if we so much as laid our shadows across you… it would only dim your light. It wouldn't make you brighter. It would ruin you."
The girl blinked, startled.
His father roared, furious.
Akuma ignored him.
He walked her to the door himself. He opened it. And as the girl disappeared into the light outside, something inside him shifted.
He heard the enraged footsteps of his father behind him. Felt the weight of that fury like a storm at his back. But he didn't turn.
For the first time in his life, he didn't care.
Since that day, Akuma resolved to leave that world behind.
To abandon the throne, the title, the blood-drenched inheritance.
He would not be a son of shadows.
He would be something else.
He would be a trainer.
Because in that fleeting spark, in the tremble of a girl's voice as she begged for strength—not power, not money, but strength—he had found his answer.
He was not meant to be a boss, or a prodigy, or a criminal heir.
He was meant to be a man who gave.
Gave time.
Gave safety.
Gave belief.
A man who would make sure no Uma ever had to sell themselves to the shadows just to run.
And for the first time… he knew who Akuma was.
Not the Yakuza's son.
Not the shadow of a kingdom.
Not a ghost haunting other people's dreams.
Just… Akuma.
A boy who had finally found the fire that made him feel alive.
A boy who wanted to believe in the stars.
When he opened his eyes, the restaurant's light was warm again. He saw McQueen's face, worry and curiosity mingling in her eyes. Special Week leaned forward, holding her breath. Tachyon was quiet, pen unmoving for once.
Scarlet, Vodka, Rice, Teio—all watching.
Even Oguri had finally stopped eating.
Even Gold Ship had stopped stacking sushi on Mischa.
Akuma exhaled slowly.
"That's how it started," he said, voice low. "That's why I became a trainer. That's why I left everything else behind."
His words hung in the air, heavier than any silence before.
"And… I loved… every bit of the world I received."