The Valhalla warehouse had never felt so small.

Kazutora stood in its center, surrounded by his fellow gang members, but utterly alone. His hands were still shaking. His eyes still burned. The phantom warmth of Takemichi's lips—stolen, desperate, rejected—clung to him like a wound that wouldn't close.

"He said no." The words fell from his mouth like stones. "He chose them. Over me."

Hanma lounged against a support beam, watching with those fox-like eyes that missed nothing. "Told you, Tora. Little rabbit's got claws. And apparently, a whole pack of Black Dragons ready to use them."

"I don't care about Black Dragons." Kazutora's voice rose, cracking. "I don't care about Taiju or Koko or any of them. He's MINE. I found him first. I protected him. I—" His breath hitched. "I love him."

The word hung in the air, strange and uncomfortable. Love wasn't something Valhalla talked about. Valhalla talked about destruction, about revenge, about crushing Mikey and Toman. Love had no place here.

Choji, standing near the back, shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, Kazutora-san? Maybe you should just... let it go? The guy clearly doesn't want to—"

The beer can hit him square in the forehead.

"SHUT UP!" Kazutora screamed, hurling another can at anyone nearby. "You don't know anything! None of you know anything! He LOOKED at me! He TALKED to me! He understood me in a way no one ever has, and you expect me to just—to just LET HIM GO?"

The warehouse erupted into chaos as Kazutora's carefully maintained composure shattered completely. He grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it at a group of members who'd been whispering. They scattered, but not fast enough—the chair caught one in the shoulder, sending him sprawling.

"Kazutora, calm down!" one of the lieutenants shouted, dodging another projectile.

"CALM DOWN? CALM DOWN?" Kazutora's laughter was manic, terrifying. "I'll show you calm!" He grabbed a metal pipe from somewhere and swung it wildly, forcing everyone back. "He should be HERE! With ME! Not with some Black Dragon pretty boy who probably doesn't even know how to make him happy!"

The warehouse became a war zone. Kazutora moved through it like a tiger among sheep, pipe swinging, eyes wild, screams tearing from his throat. Members fled, some nursing injuries, others simply trying to survive the rampage. Tables overturned. Glass shattered. The headless angel banner was torn from the wall and shredded.

Through it all, Hanma watched. He didn't intervene, didn't try to stop it. He simply observed, that strange half-smile on his face, as if this was exactly the entertainment he'd been hoping for.

When Kazutora finally exhausted himself, collapsing to his knees amidst the wreckage, breathing in harsh gasps, Hanma sauntered over and crouched beside him.

"Feel better?"

Kazutora didn't answer. His hands, still gripping the pipe, were bloody—from broken glass, from punching walls, from the faces he'd hit. His tears had dried, leaving tracks through the dust on his cheeks.

"He's not coming back," Hanma said softly. "Not willingly. You know that, right?"

"...I know."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Kazutora was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—not his usual manic grin, but something colder. More focused. More dangerous.

"If I can't bring him back..." He looked up at Hanma, golden eyes burning with new purpose. "Then I'll destroy everything that's keeping him away. Toman. Black Dragons. Anyone who stands between us." He rose, the pipe clattering to the floor. "Starting with whoever that pretty boy was who took him from me."

Hanma's smile widened. "Now that's the Kazutora I know."

The Next Day At Black Dragon's Base

Takemichi woke to a text from Inupi: Taiju wants to meet you. Alone. I'll come get you at 10.

His blood ran cold.

Taiju Shiba. The 9th Generation Black Dragon leader. The man who, in another world, had terrorized his own siblings, beaten Hakkai, driven Yuzuha to desperate measures. The man whose fists could crush bones like twigs.

And he wanted to meet. Alone.

Akane noticed his expression over breakfast. "What's wrong?"

"Taiju wants to see me."

The color drained from her face. "Absolutely not. I won't allow it."

"I don't think 'allowing' is part of the equation." Takemichi stirred his rice listlessly. "He's the leader of the Black Dragons. If he wants to see me, he'll see me. With or without permission."

"I'll come with you."

"He said alone."

"Then Inupi can—"

"He said alone, Akane." Takemichi reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "I'll be okay. I've faced worse than Taiju Shiba." In another life, he didn't add. In memories that might not even be real.

Akane's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You don't know what he's capable of. He's—"

"Violent. Dangerous. Unpredictable." Takemichi nodded. "I know. But running from him won't make him go away. And if I'm going to survive in this world, I need to face people like him eventually." He squeezed her hand. "Trust me. Please."

She wanted to argue. He could see it in every line of her body, in the way her jaw tightened and her hands clenched. But finally, slowly, she nodded.

"If you're not back by noon, I'm sending Inupi and every Black Dragon who loves him after you."

Takemichi smiled. "Deal."

Inupi arrived exactly at ten, his expression a war between duty and terror. He didn't speak during the walk to the Black Dragons' base, but his hand found Takemichi's and held on like a lifeline.

The base was an old warehouse, converted into something between a headquarters and a fortress. Black Dragon symbols marked the walls. Members in modified uniforms nodded respectfully as Inupi passed, their curious eyes lingering on the small, hooded figure beside him.

They stopped before a heavy steel door.

"He's inside." Inupi's voice was barely a whisper. "Takemichi, I—" He swallowed hard. "Whatever happens, I'll be right here. If you need me, just scream. I don't care what he says. I'll come."

Takemichi rose on his toes and pressed a gentle kiss to Inupi's cheek. "I know. Thank you."

Then he opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was sparse—concrete floor, bare walls, a single desk with two chairs. Taiju Shiba sat in one of them, a mountain made flesh, his crimson Black Dragon jacket a slash of color in the gray space.

He didn't rise when Takemichi entered. Didn't speak. Simply watched with those cold, calculating eyes as Takemichi crossed the room and sat in the empty chair.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was heavy, suffocating, designed to intimidate.

Takemichi waited.

Finally, Taiju's lips curved into something that might have been amusement. "You're not afraid of me."

"I'm terrified," Takemichi admitted. "But being terrified doesn't mean I have to show it."

"Interesting." Taiju leaned back, studying him with renewed focus. "Most people, when they meet me, can't stop shaking. Can't meet my eyes. You've done both since you walked in."

"Most people haven't been through what I have." Takemichi met his gaze steadily. "You want to know if I'm useful. If I'm a threat. If I'm worth keeping around." He tilted his head. "So ask. I'll answer."

Taiju's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Direct. I like that." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his massive frame somehow taking up even more space. "Tell me about Valhalla. What you saw. What you heard."

Takemichi did. He described the warehouse, the structure, the dynamics between Kisaki, Hanma, and Kazutora. He mentioned the plans against Toman, the recruitment of Baji, the upcoming battle on October 31st. He left out nothing—except his own origins, his impossible memories, the other world where this had all happened before.

When he finished, Taiju was quiet for a long moment.

"You're either the best spy I've ever encountered," he said slowly, "or you're exactly what you seem—a kid caught in something too big for him."

"Both, maybe." Takemichi shrugged. "I didn't ask to be kidnapped. I didn't ask to be kept. But I was, and I saw things, and now I'm telling you what I saw. What you do with that information is up to you."

Taiju stood. The movement was sudden, fluid despite his size, and before Takemichi could react, a massive hand closed around his throat and lifted him from the chair.

Takemichi's feet dangled. His air cut off. He grabbed at Taiju's wrist, nails scratching uselessly against skin like iron.

"You talk well," Taiju observed, his voice calm, almost conversational. "But words are cheap. Anyone can talk. What I need to know is whether you'll break when it matters." His grip tightened slightly. "So let's find out."

The punch came without warning—a massive fist driving into Takemichi's stomach. Air exploded from his lungs. Pain blossomed, white-hot and immediate. He would have doubled over if Taiju's grip on his throat hadn't kept him upright.

"That's one." Taiju's voice was distant, filtered through the roaring in Takemichi's ears. "Still conscious. Good."

Another punch. Ribs creaked. Takemichi's vision blurred.

Another. His mind screamed at him to give up, to yield, to do whatever this monster wanted. But something deeper, something forged in years of time-leaping and loss and desperate hope, refused to break.

He looked at Taiju through eyes swimming with tears of pain and met his gaze.

"Is... that... all...?" he gasped.

Taiju paused. Something flickered in those cold eyes—surprise, maybe, or the first stirrings of genuine interest.

He dropped Takemichi.

Takemichi hit the concrete hard, gasping, curling around his abused ribs. Every breath was agony. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body. But he was alive. Conscious. Unbroken.

Taiju crouched beside him, close enough that Takemichi could see the intricate patterns in his blue-and-white hair, the faint scar above his eyebrow.

"Most people," Taiju said quietly, "would have passed out after the first hit. Would have begged after the second. Would have told me anything I wanted to hear after the third." He studied Takemichi's pain-twisted face. "You didn't even cry out."

"Crying... doesn't help." Takemichi forced the words out between ragged breaths. "Never has."

Taiju was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and helped Takemichi sit up. The gesture was almost gentle, which made it somehow more terrifying.

"You interest me, Hanagaki Takemichi." He sat back on his heels, regarding Takemichi like a scientist with a particularly fascinating specimen. "You have no gang affiliation. No combat training I can detect. Yet you survived weeks in Valhalla, earned the devotion of its most unstable member, and now sit here taking punches from me without breaking." He tilted his head. "Why?"

Takemichi coughed, tasting blood. "Because I've been through worse."

"Worse than me?"

"In different ways." He met Taiju's gaze again, those ocean-blue eyes clear despite the pain. "I've watched people I love die. I've been powerless to save them. I've been called insane, locked up, drugged, chained like an animal. Your fists hurt, Taiju-san. But they can't touch what's already broken."

The silence that followed was different from before. Heavier. More complicated.

Taiju rose and returned to his chair, gesturing for Takemichi to take the other one. Takemichi dragged himself into it, every movement sending fresh protests from his battered body.

"You're not useful as a fighter," Taiju said bluntly. "You're too small, too untrained, too fragile. But you might be useful in other ways." He steepled his fingers. "You understand people. You see past their surfaces to what's underneath. That's rare. That's valuable."

Takemichi blinked. "You're... not going to kill me?"

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Taiju said it simply, without cruelty, as a statement of fact. "I wanted to understand you. Now I do. Partially." He leaned forward. "Inupi cares about you. That makes you valuable to me, whether you contribute anything else or not. Koko is intrigued by you, which is almost unprecedented. And you have information about Valhalla that could prove useful." He paused. "So I'll make you an offer."

Takemichi waited, heart pounding.

"Stay close to Inupi. Protect him, emotionally if not physically. Be his anchor, his reason to smile." Taiju's eyes hardened slightly. "In return, the Black Dragons will protect you. Valhalla won't touch you. Kisaki won't scheme against you. And if Kazutora comes near you again, I'll personally remove his hands."

"That's..." Takemichi struggled to process. "That's very generous."

"It's practical." Taiju shrugged. "Inupi is my most valuable officer after Koko. His stability affects the entire organization. If you make him stable, you make us stronger." He stood, signaling the meeting was over. "One more thing."

Takemichi rose carefully, holding his ribs.

"If you ever hurt him—if you use his feelings to manipulate him or discard him carelessly—I'll finish what I started today." Taiju's voice was ice. "And next time, I won't stop at a few punches. Understood?"

"Understood." Takemichi met his gaze without flinching. "But I won't hurt him. I care about him too much."

Taiju studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Good. You can go. Inupi's waiting."

Takemichi turned toward the door, then paused. "Taiju-san?"

"What?"

"You could have broken me. Easily. But you didn't." He looked back over his shoulder. "Why?"

For the first time, something that might have been vulnerability flickered across Taiju's face—there and gone so fast Takemichi almost missed it.

"Because I know what it's like," Taiju said quietly, "to be broken by people who should have protected you. And I refuse to be that person for someone else."

He turned away, dismissing Takemichi, but the words hung in the air like ghosts.

Inupi was waiting exactly where he'd promised, pressed against the wall opposite the door, his face pale with worry. The moment Takemichi emerged, he was there—hands hovering, eyes scanning, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain.

"He hit you." Inupi's voice was flat, dangerous. "More than once."

"I'm okay."

"You're not okay. You're holding your ribs and you can barely stand." Inupi's hands shook as they cupped Takemichi's face, thumbs tracing the emerging bruises on his cheeks. "I should have been in there. I should have—"

"Stopped him? Inupi, he's your leader. You can't just—"

"I don't care." The words were fierce, desperate. "I don't care about any of it—the gang, my position, any of it—if it means you getting hurt." He pulled Takemichi close, careful of his injuries, and buried his face in his hair. "I can't do this. I can't watch you walk into danger and just... wait."

Takemichi wrapped his arms around Inupi as best he could, ignoring the fresh pain from his ribs. "Hey. Look at me."

Inupi pulled back reluctantly, his eyes red-rimmed.

"I'm okay. I'm here. And Taiju..." Takemichi smiled slightly. "Taiju actually kind of likes me, I think. In his own terrifying way."

Inupi stared at him. "He beat you up."

"He tested me. There's a difference." Takemichi reached up, cupping Inupi's cheek. "He said I'm valuable because I make you smile. That you're his most important officer, and my job is to keep you stable." He grinned, then winced at the pull on his bruised face. "Basically, I have official Black Dragon approval to date you."

Inupi's face went through approximately seventeen shades of red. "He—he said WHAT?"

"Not in so many words. But yeah." Takemichi's grin softened into something tender. "So I guess you're stuck with me. Official gang business."

Inupi made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob or both. He pulled Takemichi close again, even more carefully this time, and held on like he'd never let go.

"I love you," he whispered into Takemichi's hair. "I know it's fast and I know we haven't known each other long and I know this whole situation is insane, but I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone. I didn't know I could feel this way about anyone."

Takemichi's heart swelled until he thought it might burst. "I love you too, Inupi. You and Akane—you're my family now. The only family I have in this world." He pulled back just enough to meet Inupi's eyes. "Whatever happens, whatever comes, we face it together. Okay?"

"Okay." Inupi's voice was thick with emotion. "Together."

They stayed like that for a long moment, two broken people holding each other together in the shadow of a monster who had, inexplicably, given them his blessing.

Later, back at Akane's apartment, Takemichi endured another round of medical examination—this one more tearful than clinical.

"Three bruised ribs. Multiple contusions. Emerging bruises on his face and throat." Akane's voice was clinical, but her hands shook as she applied cold compresses. "He could have killed you."

"But he didn't."

"He could have." She looked up at him, eyes bright. "Every time you walk out that door, I'm terrified I'll never see you again. Every single time."

Takemichi caught her hands, stilling them. "Akane. Look at me."

She did, reluctantly.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. And I'll keep coming back, every time, no matter what." He squeezed her hands. "You and Inupi are my reasons now. My anchors. As long as you're here, I'll always find my way home."

A tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. She wiped it impatiently. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told." He smiled, then winced. "Ow. Smiling hurts."

"Serves you right." But she was smiling too, despite everything, and that made the pain worth it.

That night, Inupi stayed. He didn't ask—simply settled on the floor beside Takemichi's futon, one hand stretched out to rest near his, a silent guardian against the dark.

Takemichi, drifting toward sleep, reached out and intertwined their fingers.

"Inupi?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For everything."

Inupi's hand tightened around his. "Always. Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

And he was.

Meanwhile, at the Valhalla warehouse:

Kisaki reviewed reports of Kazutora's rampage with clinical detachment. The variable's escape had destabilised his most volatile asset. That was... problematic.

"We need to accelerate the timeline," he murmured to Hanma. "Before Kazutora's obsession compromises the operation."

Hanma shrugged. "Accelerate how?"

"Push the battle earlier. Force Toman's hand. And find a way to use the rabbit as bait." Kisaki's glasses glinted. "If Kazutora wants him so badly, we'll use that. Draw him out. Draw the Black Dragons out. Let them destroy each other."

Hanma's smile widened. "You're evil, Tetta-chan."

"Practical." Kisaki returned to his maps. "Now help me plan."

Outside, in the wreckage of the warehouse, Kazutora sat alone, staring at nothing. The bell on his ear was silent.

Somewhere out there, Takemichi was sleeping peacefully, surrounded by people who loved him.

And Kazutora's heart, already broken, shattered just a little bit more.

The next morning:

Takemichi woke to find Inupi already awake, watching him with those soft, devoted eyes. Morning light painted the room in gold, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

"Morning," Inupi murmured.

"Morning." Takemichi smiled, then winced. "Ow. Still hurts."

"I'll make you breakfast. Something soft. No chewing required." Inupi rose, then paused. "Takemichi?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens with Valhalla, with Kazutora, with any of it—I'm on your side. Always. You know that, right?"

Takemichi reached up, catching his hand. "I know. And I'm on yours. Always."

Inupi's smile was worth every bruise, every punch, every moment of pain. It was soft and bright and full of a love so pure it made Takemichi's heart ache.

"I'll go make that breakfast now."

"Okay."

Inupi left, and Takemichi lay back, staring at the ceiling. His body hurt. His mind swirled with questions about this world, about his place in it, about the people who loved him and the people who wanted to destroy him.

If you are wondering why Taiju cares so much about seishu it's because in this au seishu is also a valuable asset that brings Taiju money, and if Seishu is down, Taiju's source of income will be low.

I don't ship Inui with taiju I swear. If any of you think so, you can get out of my fic.