At first, Daiki tried to analyze the voice, digging through years of buried memories — but nothing came.

The owner of the voice stepped closer, boots scuffing the dusty floor until he stopped a few steps behind Daiki.

After a heavy silence, Daiki spoke, his tone calm but guarded.

"Who are you?"

The stranger moved again, stepping deliberately into Daiki's line of sight. 

Their eyes locked — one pair cold and accusing, the other flat and unreadable.

Then the man gave a dismissive flick of his fingers, pointing at himself, then at Daiki.

"We don't know each other. Let's keep it that way, okay?"

The insolent tone prickled under Daiki's skin. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly — but held himself still. 

He needed answers, not an ego clash.

"What do you want?"

Bringing him here wasn't random. There was a purpose.

The stranger's gaze sharpened. 

His voice dropped to a low threat, rough at the edges.

"I could have killed you while you were unconscious, you know?"

Daiki didn't flinch. 

He held the boy's stare without blinking, unmoved by the blade's shadow hanging between them.

The stranger began pacing in tight circles, the folded knife flicking dangerously in his hand.

"I didn't do it because there are things I want to ask you first."

Daiki lifted his chin a fraction — listening, calculating the shortest path to end this.

The stranger's eyes darkened, voice spitting the word like venom.

"Why?"

Daiki's brow creased. "Why what?"

A flicker of raw rage crossed the man's face. 

The next moment, the folded knife bit into Daiki's throat, a thin line of blood welling at his skin.

The metal was cold — but the stranger's trembling hand was colder.

"Why did you kill him?!" he barked, voice cracking under something deeper than anger.

Daiki's patience frayed. 

If this kid wanted to stab him, he should just do it — this trembling threat was pathetic. 

But the outburst forced Daiki's mind to dig for sense.

"Who are you talking about?" His voice cut sharper now.

The reaction startled him. The boy's eyes brimmed, tears trembling as the knife wavered.

"My brother..." He swallowed hard. "Why did you... kill my brother?"

The accusation didn't rattle him the way the boy probably hoped. 

In Daiki's line of work, this was simple arithmetic. 

Every man he'd ever put down left someone behind — a mother, a brother, a son with a knife and a grudge. 

He'd always known that eventually, one of those shadows would step into the light and demand answers.

Daiki ran a mental inventory, quick and methodical. 

The list was longer than he cared to count. 

But this didn't fit. 

This was not a trained operative, not someone sent by an enemy with resources and patience. 

This was a boy, barely into adulthood, shaking so hard the knife at Daiki's throat was a greater danger to its holder than to him.

"Which gang was your brother from?"

That question slapped the stranger like an insult. His eyes widened — then turned to ice. 

He waved the knife wildly, voice breaking.

"My brother was just fifteen! He hated violence! He was just a kid who loved books and video games like any normal boy!"

The pain broke the stranger at last. 

His legs buckled, dropping him to a crouch in front of Daiki. 

Tears slipped down his cheeks as his shoulders shook.

"He didn't want to come... I forced him to come with me... Why... why...?"

Daiki watched him quietly. 

The kid couldn't be older than twenty, yet here he was, threatening a man twice his size.

Despite it all, Daiki felt a flicker of sympathy — the fury replaced by something all too familiar. 

Loss. A grief you can't outrun.

Softly, he spoke — not an apology for himself, but an acknowledgment that the loss was real.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

The stranger's breath hitched. 

"Sorry?" he said. "I don't need your apology."

His trembling fingers dug into his pocket and pulled out a battered wallet, flipping it open with shaking hands.

Inside was a photo — five people huddled together, grinning at the camera.

He thrust it forward, jabbing a finger at the youngest one in the picture. 

"Look," he said, his lips trembling with the flood of emotions rising in him.

"This is my brother, you bastard. The boy you killed."

Daiki's eyes scanned the photo. 

No spark of recognition for the boy — but someone else in the frame caught his attention. 

His eyes narrowed.

"Wait..."

The stranger froze, caught off guard by Daiki's sudden shift in tone. 

He thought for a second Daiki really recognized his brother — but that wasn't it at all.

Daiki's gaze pinned him, voice low and edged with something darker than confusion.

"That blond guy... is he your family too?"