The heat came early that morning.
It clung to Yokosaki High like a second skin—thick, restless, buzzing with the promise of freedom. Students crowded the front gates, voices overlapping in excited chaos. Laughter, complaints about finals, plans for festivals and beach days—it all spilled out into the street.
Kenji leaned against the iron gate, arms crossed, soaking it in like he owned the place.
"One more day," he said, grinning. "Freedom's just waiting on the other side of this bell."
Vincent stood beside him, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded. "Yeah. If we make it there without getting jumped again."
Nikki shot him a look. "You jinxed it. Why would you say that out loud?"
Miylen stretched her arms overhead, unfazed. "Relax. Even delinquents need vacations."
Onori smiled faintly. "Not the kind that hang around this neighborhood."
They laughed—easy, familiar.
Then the laughter thinned.
A group of older students rounded the corner, uniforms marked with different school colors. Their posture was wrong—too loose, too confident. Smirks already in place.
The one in front tilted his head, eyes scanning the group.
"So these are the famous Yokosaki kids?" he said. "Thought you'd look tougher."
Kenji cracked his knuckles, smile sharpening. "Guess we'll have to disappoint you."
Vincent sighed. "Can't we at least make it to lunch first?"
Akira stepped forward, calm as still water.
"No point waiting," he said. "Let's finish this quick."
The first punch came fast.
The fight exploded across the pavement—short, brutal, efficient. Kenji swung wide and hard, laughing even as he took a hit. Nikki moved like a blade, precise and fast, dropping anyone who got too close. Vincent intercepted two attackers at once, movements clean and ruthless. Miylen and Onori flowed in and out of the chaos—wild momentum meeting disciplined counters.
Akira stayed at the center, stepping in only when necessary. His movements were sharper now. Controlled. Each strike ended something.
It was over almost as fast as it started.
The other crew stumbled back, bruised and embarrassed, retreating under the weight of stares.
Kenji wiped sweat from his brow. "You call that a warm-up?"
Vincent adjusted his collar. "Summer's starting off great."
Nikki rolled her eyes. "You're all idiots."
The school bell rang behind them—long and loud, like a line being crossed.
That afternoon, the Genesis dojo was open wide to the sun.
Cicadas hummed outside. Light poured through the doors, dust drifting lazily in the air. Shoes were kicked off. Snacks and drinks littered the floor.
Onori folded her legs neatly. "So. Summer break. What's everyone planning?"
Kenji didn't hesitate. "Eat. Sleep. Repeat."
"Train a little," Nikki added.
Vincent leaned back. "Beach trip. Obviously."
Miylen smirked. "You just wanna see girls in swimsuits."
"And you don't?" Vincent shot back.
Laughter filled the room again.
Akira leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling fan as it turned slowly, endlessly.
Onori noticed. "You spacing out again?"
"…Guess I'm just thinking about where I came from," he said.
"The North, right?" Kenji asked.
Akira nodded. "Yeah. Haven't been back in a while."
Vincent studied him. "You miss it?"
Akira paused, then smirked faintly. "Can't say I do. But there's still some people there I owe."
The room went quiet for just a second.
Then Kenji tossed a chip at his head.
"Bro, stop being mysterious for once. It's summer."
The tension broke. Laughter returned. But something stayed behind—unspoken.
Night came quietly.
Akira stood in his apartment, packing a small duffel. A shirt. Gloves. His old black jacket—the one that still smelled faintly like smoke and rain.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
Ichigo.
Akira answered. "…It's been a while."
"Too long," Ichigo said. "We got a situation. Old gang we crushed last year just resurfaced. Got a name you'll recognize."
Silence stretched.
"We could use you," Ichigo added.
Akira zipped the bag shut. "Send the address."
A low chuckle. "Knew you'd say that. Welcome home."
The call ended.
The train station was nearly empty.
Akira stood alone on the platform as headlights cut through the dark. His phone buzzed again—messages lighting up the screen.
Yo, tomorrow—beach. Don't flake.
You better not ghost us, Akira.
Stay safe, idiot.
He smiled, typing one word back.
Always.
The train arrived with a roar. Doors slid open.
Akira stepped inside.
As the city blurred past the window, Yokosaki faded behind him—sun, laughter, and a summer that never got the chance to be peaceful.
Far north, smoke curled through the air of an old warehouse.
Ichigo waited, eyes sharp, grin slow.
"Let's see," he said, exhaling, "if the North still remembers the name Akira."
The fire had never gone out.
It had only been waiting.